To Marry the Elder Brother of One's Late Husband - Chapter 39

Chapter 39: The Crimson Curtains are Filled with Her

The sky-blue outer garment fell to the floor, revealing the plum-colored under-bodice beneath. As her skin met the cool air, Jiang Shu shivered. She kicked off her embroidered shoes, climbed onto the bed, and sat close to Lu Changji.

Lu Changji’s breathing was rapid, and his skin was scorching hot, causing the temperature within the bed curtains to rise. His face was flushed pink, and a deep crimson stained his neck. Sweat trickled down his chin, sliding over Adam’s apple before disappearing into his collar.

Jiang Shu gazed at him without blinking. Her ears grew hot, and her slender hand involuntarily reached out to touch Adam’s apple. The small protrusion was firm, rolling beneath her touch as he let out hoarse, labored breaths that vibrated against her fingertips.

She slid her hand down to his throat and untied the silk sash of his robes. The green sleeping robe slipped away, exposing a broad expanse of skin. Lu Changji was fair-skinned but not weak; his shoulders were wide, and his abdomen was lined with lean, well-defined muscle. He possessed a raw masculine strength that was visually overwhelming.

Jiang Shu’s throat felt dry. She reached out and stroked his abdomen twice. At her touch, his breathing hitched further, and his muscles tightened visibly. A wave of indescribable emotion welled up in her chest, and her own body began to heat up. Trembling, she pulled out a silk handkerchief and tied it over Lu Changji’s eyes, cutting off his sight.

With his eyes covered, his high, straight nose became even more prominent—sharp and perfect, like a mountain peak carved by a blade. Jiang Shu reached for his waist, fumbling to untie his lower garments, then crawled to the foot of the bed to pull them away.

She was terrified, but she was not one to waver once a choice was made. Even if she had to endure the sharpest pain, she would see this through. The undergarments she wore were a special bridal gift hidden at the bottom of her dowry chest by Madame Lin; they were designed such that she didn’t even need to remove them.

When the deed was done, Jiang Shu was drenched in sweat, her legs like jelly. She had no strength left. She used the bedpost to haul herself up, but as she moved to get off the bed, her ankle was suddenly caught in a firm grip.

Time had passed; the drug’s potency was likely fading. Not daring to linger, she wrenched her foot free from Lu Changji’s grasp and staggered out the door.

Lu Changji’s fingers curled slightly, as if recalling the sensation of her skin—it had been smooth as jade, with a tiny mole right at the ankle.

…

Returning to her quarters, Jiang Shu collapsed onto her bed, gasping for air. Zhu’er, knowing the plan had succeeded, leaned in close. She was taken aback by Jiang Shu’s appearance. “Miss, it was just a bout of intimacy… why do you look like you’ve been fished out of a river?”

Jiang Shu felt a searing, burning pain. She let out a sharp hiss. “Bring me a basin of hot water.”

Sensing her distress, Zhu’er hurried to the kitchen. Among the common folk, women often gossiped that a man with a high, straight nose would be exceptionally powerful in “that regard.” Jiang Shu had never believed such baseless rumors before, but after experiencing Lu Changji, she felt the legends might hold some truth.

Her body felt as if it had been split apart. The pain was heart-wrenching. She had considered stopping midway, but Lu Changji’s hand had pressed her down, refusing to let her go. She had never known a man’s stamina could be so terrifying. By the time she felt she was on the verge of fainting, he finally finished. She had stumbled all the way back, nearly collapsing on the path.

She sent Zhu’er to the outer room and used hot towels to clean herself. Fortunately, she had a cooling ointment that provided some relief when applied. Exhaling a long breath, she tucked the ointment away and lay back down. The trip to the rear courtyard had exhausted her, and she soon drifted into a deep sleep—only to be jolted awake by a thunderous pounding on the door.

“Who is it?” Zhu’er called out from the door.

“A dangerous fugitive has broken into the temple. I am under orders to search,” Cheng Yong’s voice rang out.

Jiang Shu sat up with a start. She had just left Lu Changji… and now Cheng Yong was searching for a “fugitive”? He wasn’t looking for a criminal; he was looking for whoever had schemed against his master.

She looked into the bronze mirror. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her gaze was hazy, and her exhaustion was plain to see. She frantically applied a layer of powder to hide the dark circles, but it couldn’t mask her listlessness. She added a layer of rouge to her cheeks to make herself look more spirited.

“Second Young Mistress!” Cheng Yong urged from the door.

Her heart thumping with guilt, Jiang Shu didn’t dare make him wait. She signaled Zhu’er to open the door. A cool night breeze swept in, making her shiver. When she looked up, she saw Lu Changji entering the room as well.

The drug had worn off. In contrast to Jiang Shu’s visible fatigue, Lu Changji appeared refreshed, his expression calm and clear. He sat in a chair and pointed to the couch. “Sister-in-law, don’t be a stranger. Sit and talk.”

Jiang Shu didn’t notice that he had unconsciously taken charge of the room. She complied, but as she stood up to walk, she realized she had underestimated the lingering effects of the encounter. Every step brought a searing pain. Distracted by trying to hide her limp, she tripped over the thick rug and fell. A nearby stool toppled over, striking her shin. She let out a soft cry, tears welling in her eyes.

Lu Changji’s gaze darkened instantly. He looked at Jiang Lu, a maid standing behind him. “Go and help the Second Young Mistress up.”

Jiang Shu noticed then that behind Cheng Yong stood a maid named Jiang Lu, who looked gentle but moved with great stability. Jiang Lu knelt beside her, taking her wrist. “Did you hurt yourself, Madam? I know a bit of medicine; perhaps I should check for you.”

Jiang Lu remembered Lu Changji’s specific instruction: Ensure you check if there is a small red mole on the Second Young Mistress’s ankle. She found the request bizarre—why was her master so concerned with his sister-in-law’s private markings? But she kept her thoughts to herself; a master’s order was to be obeyed.

Jiang Lu helped her into the inner chamber. “Madam, let me examine you. Tell me where it hurts.” She moved to lift Jiang Shu’s trouser leg.

Sensing a hidden motive, Jiang Shu panicked and twisted away. “I am fine. It’s no trouble. Please, leave!”

Jiang Lu refused to budge. “Do not hide your illness, Madam. I can tell if you are well or not with one look.” She reached for the leg again.

Jiang Shu grew angry. She brushed the maid’s hand away. “Don’t think that because you are the Eldest Master’s person, you can do as you please! You have no authority here. Leave at once!”

Faced with her stubbornness, Jiang Lu reached out and tapped a pressure point on Jiang Shu’s back. Jiang Shu suddenly found herself unable to move. As Jiang Lu reached down once more to lift the trouser leg, a voice shattered the silence of the temple.

“The Heir has passed away!”

Changsheng’s voice rang out like a thunderclap over Qingyang Temple. The silent night was instantly thrown into chaos.

Jiang Shu remained frozen in her seated position, her mind a chaotic blur. Her vision went black, and she nearly toppled over.

“Madam!” Zhu’er rushed to her side, supporting her. She settled Jiang Shu on the couch and turned to Changsheng. “The Heir’s health was poor, but he wasn’t beyond help. How could he suddenly be gone?”

Changsheng sobbed, “This evening, his spirits were high. He even ate half a bowl more than usual. After dinner, he wanted to walk in the garden. I accompanied him… but as soon as we returned to the room, he fell ill. He was burning up and vomiting blood. Before Dr. Wen could arrive, he had breathed his last.”

Lu Changyi was gone. Alongside her grief, Jiang Shu felt a crushing weight of guilt. Based on the timing, while he was dying in agony, she had been in the rear courtyard with his brother. Tears fell like broken pearls.

Lu Changji, watching her, noted the depth of her grief. Compared to her visible sorrow, he remained composed, though deep within, a secret, unspeakable emotion began to take root. He handed her a handkerchief. “My brother is gone. You must restrain your grief.”

…

The family hurried back to the Marquis Mansion. Before dawn, the gates were draped in white banners. Every servant was dressed in mourning white. Jiang Shu stayed in the funeral hall to keep watch. Her grief was genuine, unlike many others who were simply following protocol.

Madame Zhao entered the hall, looking as if she had aged ten years overnight. She stood by the coffin, staring at her son’s face for a long time. She reached out to touch him, then pulled back, standing in silence for half an hour before departing. Her back was bowed, and her shoulders trembled. Jiang Shu knew she was crying—but as a proud woman, she would never show it in public.

Jiang Shu whispered to Zhu’er, “Go to the kitchen and prepare some ginseng soup for the Marchioness.”

As dawn broke, Zhu’er brought the soup to the West Hall. Madame Zhao was busy organizing the funeral and managing the household’s affairs. After the managers left, Zhu’er overheard a conversation between Changsheng and Madame Zhao.

“Madam, you are a kind soul,” Changsheng said. “The Heir feared you might be too soft-hearted. Before he died, he strictly ordered me to remind you: if the Second Young Mistress is not pregnant, she must be buried alive with him. He loved her so much that even in death, he could not bear to leave her behind in this world.”

Standing outside the door, Zhu’er was paralyzed with shock. One can know a face but not a heart. On the surface, the Heir had cherished her mistress, yet he was willing to take her life to satisfy his possessive love.

Zhu’er, pale-faced, hurried back to the funeral hall. She leaned into Jiang Shu’s ear, her voice trembling. “Madam, I have something to tell you.”

Seeing Zhu’er’s gravity, Jiang Shu knew something was wrong. They retreated to a side room.

“What is it?”

Zhu’er took a deep breath. “The Heir… he wants you to be buried with him!”

Buried with him?

Her head throbbed, and her ears rang. She suspected she was hallucinating. “What did you say?”

Zhu’er gripped her hand. “The Heir was a hypocrite. He looked kind, but his heart was black. Our family status is low; if the Marchioness orders it, even your father won’t dare protest. You must plan for yourself!”

Jiang Shu sank into a chair with a bitter laugh. In her eighteen years, her father had been cold, and her birth mother, though loving, was powerless. She thought Lu Changyi was her sanctuary. He had given her gold, protected her from Madame Zhao, and held her hand at night. She thought it was true love—but he wanted to take her to the grave with him. She had misjudged him completely.

She drank a cup of cold tea in one gulp, slammed the cup down, and wrenched the emerald bracelet from her wrist—a gift from Lu Changyi she had never taken off. She handed it to Zhu’er, then added a gold hair ornament for extra weight. “Take these to Dr. Wen…”

Dr. Wen was the mansion’s trusted physician. She had only been with Lu Changji the night before; there was no way a pregnancy could be detected yet. She had to “prepare” the result.

…

The day was a blur of mourners. It wasn’t until nightfall that Madame Zhao found a moment of rest. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed in exhaustion. Her only son was gone. Though she had prepared for this, the grief was overwhelming. And then there was her daughter-in-law… Jiang Shu was of low birth, but her character was impeccable. She was even ready to hand over the household management to her. But she had to honor her son’s final wish.

Madame Zhao rubbed her temples, praying that Jiang Shu had been “productive” enough to carry her son’s bloodline.

“Nanny Zhou!” she called out.

Nanny Zhou arrived, but Madame Zhao didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, she opened her eyes. “Send for the Second Young Mistress. And fetch Dr. Wen.”

Madame Zhao was a proud woman of noble birth, yet the thought of what she was about to do made her feel ashamed. She said to the nanny, “I am tired. I will rest in the inner room. You receive her in the hall. If she is pregnant, tell me immediately. If she is not… make her drink the pot of Biluochun tea on the table.” (The tea was poisoned).

Madame Zhao hurried out, stumbling slightly at the threshold.

Dr. Wen arrived before Jiang Shu. When Jiang Shu entered, she bowed to him. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr. Wen placed a silk cloth over her wrist and took her pulse. After a moment of silence, he spoke: “The Madam’s pulse is smooth and vigorous, like pearls rolling on a jade plate. She is indeed with child.”

Pregnant! Nanny Zhou was overjoyed. she pressed a silver ingot into the doctor’s hand and saw him out. She turned to Jiang Shu with a beaming smile. “The Heir has passed, and I know you are hurting. But you are carrying the little Heir now. For the sake of the child, you must take care of yourself.”

Nanny Zhou hurried to the inner room. “Congratulations, Madam! The Second Young Mistress is pregnant!”

Madame Zhao’s bowed back straightened. Her son was gone, but she had a grandson. Jiang Shu would not have to die. Her lifeless eyes finally found a spark of hope. “She is a hero of the Lu family,” Madame Zhao declared. “From now on, she shall want for nothing. Whatever she desires, the kitchen shall provide.”

Jiang Shu held the stack of banknotes Madame Zhao gave her. Her heart was cold, but her face showed relief. She touched her abdomen and whispered, “I have not let the Heir’s love for me go to waste. I have done right by him.”

…

Lu Changji had many ears. Even before Madame Zhao announced the news, he knew.

Jiang Shu was his sister-in-law. Though he felt for her, he had never intended to possess her. Now that she was pregnant, she had a permanent place in the mansion. He should have been happy for her—yet the thought of her bearing another man’s child left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Restless, he put down his book and picked up his tea. Cheng Yong entered and bowed. “Master, I have investigated. No outsiders entered the temple that night. Aside from the Zhao daughter, only our family members were present.”

He recalled that Zhao Yingyun had sent him a cushion that night. He knew her feelings, but he also knew a noble daughter like her wouldn’t risk her virginity and reputation by crawling into a bed. That left the Lu family: Jiang Shu, Madame Hu, or the maids.

Jiang Shu managed the temple’s affairs and could have drugged him easily—but she had no motive. She was already pregnant; why would she risk her child’s status with such a scheme?

The faces of the women blurred in his mind. Even a man as wise as Lu Changji was at a loss. He dismissed Cheng Yong and lay down to sleep.

In his dream, he was back in the rear courtyard. The door opened, and Jiang Shu entered. Usually so dignified, she was now wearing only a thin, crimson outer robe—so thin that every curve of her body was visible as she walked.

In the dream, she climbed onto the bed, just as someone had that night. His body burned with desire, but he was paralyzed, unable to move.

Jiang Shu, in that crimson silk, slowly leaned over him…