Chapter One: Humiliation

Year forty-six of Qianqi, late March. The night wind carried faint traces of a haunting fragrance.

A young woman leaned by the window, her gaze locked upon the peach tree in full bloom outside. A bitter, mocking smile curled her lips.

Though in the prime of youth, her cheeks were sunken, her eyes dull as if shadowed by old age. Her skin was rough and sallow, her frame gaunt and skeletal, and the cold moonlight only accentuated her frail, sickly air.

Who could have imagined that Shen Qingyun was the legitimate daughter of the Duke’s manor, and the official wife of Jiang Lin, heir to the Marquis of Jiang? A proper Marquis’s heir’s wife.

“Oh, Master, spare your servant, please~”

As Shen Qingyun contemplated the blossoms, discordant sounds suddenly echoed through the silent courtyard. Waves of moans, mingled with a woman’s cries and a man’s heavy breathing, seeped through the walls, mocking Shen Qingyun’s helplessness.

“That shameless little hussy grows ever more audacious! Her!” The maid Pearl, blushing furiously at the sounds, tried to curse but faltered, glancing at Shen Qingyun’s pale face with pity in her eyes. She called softly, “Madam.”

Shen Qingyun turned and smiled, but her smile was full of bitterness. “It’s nothing. I’ve grown used to it.”

Her husband Jiang Lin had eyes only for her elder sister, Shen Sisi. In the years since their wedding, he had never touched her, instead taking her maid Hongyu as a concubine, all to humiliate her.

Jiang Lin hated Shen Qingyun, but how was she to blame?

She should have grown up carefree, but was swapped at birth by her nursemaid. The nursemaid’s child became the Duke’s true daughter, while Shen Qingyun was sold to the countryside.

She lived fourteen years in ignorance, poorly dressed, never certain when her next meal would come, worrying only about when to weed or feed the pigs. When fate finally raised her up, the joy was fleeting, replaced by endless suffering.

Shen Sisi, raised under the old matron’s care in the Duke’s manor, was cherished from childhood, both talented and beautiful. Even after Shen Qingyun was found, Shen Sisi remained the manor’s esteemed young lady; it was said she had been convalescing in the countryside since childhood.

Meanwhile, Shen Qingyun fit perfectly the mold of a rustic girl.

Her manners were crude, her demeanor timid, illiterate and awkward. Though her mother Han Rou was once famed for her beauty in the capital, Shen Qingyun possessed none of her charm, outshone even by the manor’s prettiest maids.

Aside from her mother’s welcome, every gaze upon her brimmed with disdain and contempt.

She grew ever more insecure and timid, and from deep within, resentment, jealousy, and bitterness took root.

She wanted to weep; her life was never meant to be this way!

No matter how hard she tried, she never received praise. If so, why had they bothered to bring her back?

The Duke’s daughter and the Marquis’s heir had been betrothed as children. Now that Shen Qingyun was returned, the engagement naturally shifted to her.

Jiang Lin, though reluctant, agreed for reasons unknown.

She had been overjoyed, grasping at hope in her bewildered days.

Knowing Jiang Lin favored talented women like Shen Sisi, she diligently practiced music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. She understood his discontent, so no matter his coldness, she believed she simply wasn’t good enough, hoping her efforts might win his affection in time.

The meals she cooked herself, Jiang Lin never tasted.

The clothes she stitched by hand appeared the next day on his attendant.

The dance she painstakingly learned drew only his contempt: “Clumsy imitation, affected and awkward, not a thousandth as graceful as Sisi.”

...

The only time Jiang Lin entered her room voluntarily was to demand money.

She handed over property deeds from her dowry, but earned no smile, and timidly asked, “Husband, are you short of money lately?”

Jiang Lin replied without hesitation, “What does it matter to you? Your dowry was meant for Sisi anyway. I am merely returning it to its rightful owner.”

With that, he swept his sleeves and departed, leaving her stunned and alone.

Her hopes were ground to dust; she imagined she might live out her days in lonely death within this courtyard.

After her mother’s passing and the downfall of the General’s house, life in the Marquis’s manor grew ever harder; Lady Jiang’s discontent turned to torment.

Everyone knew the heir despised her; even the lowest maid could trample through her rooms.

She ate only leftovers, worse off than the manor’s stray dog. In winter, meager coals filled her quarters with smoke, barely enough for warmth. Even when sick, she endured with nothing but bowls of ginger tea.

She was imprisoned within these walls, enduring scorn and darkness.

At length, Shen Qingyun could only sigh in secret.

“Pearl, I pity you most, suffering with me.”

Shen Qingyun gazed at Pearl. Though her chief maid, her dress was so faded it looked worse than those worn by the cleaning women.

But Pearl shook her head earnestly. “Madam, if not for you, I’d be dead long ago. I will serve you all my life.”

Shen Qingyun was about to reply, but was interrupted by laughter.

Hongyu entered, her face flushed from recent passion, clothes disheveled to reveal the red marks on her neck. She smiled coquettishly. “Pearl, the Marquis says you are to be married to Steward Wang. It’s a great fortune—you won’t have to stay here anymore.”

Pearl turned pale, trembling and unable to speak.

Steward Wang was old enough to be her father, and had already had two wives who died after suffering abuse.

On hearing this, Shen Qingyun clenched her clothes, anger making her shoulder bones jut out like a skeleton, her fingers digging painfully into her palm. Pearl was innocent; why must even she be targeted?

With a shove, Shen Qingyun pushed Hongyu aside, bursting out of the courtyard amidst their cries.

Strangely, few servants were on night duty, and none stopped her. Shen Qingyun intended to go to Jiang Lin’s quarters, but by a pond, she spotted his silhouette.

He was locked in an embrace, kissing a woman wrapped in a black cloak who leaned weakly against him and lifted her face—it was Shen Sisi.

Shen Qingyun halted in shock. Shen Sisi was married to the Third Prince; how could she be here, meeting Jiang Lin in secret, embracing him?

Shen Sisi saw Shen Qingyun and clutched Jiang Lin’s arm in alarm. “She saw us! What do we do?”

Before Shen Qingyun could react, Jiang Lin’s face darkened and he swiftly approached. Suddenly, the world spun—he shoved her into the icy lake.

With a splash, the frigid water engulfed Shen Qingyun. She struggled, but finally, in the agony of suffocation, lost consciousness.