The late spring sun hung warm and cloying, filtering through fine bamboo curtains to dapple the soft couch in Madam Su's main courtyard with lazy light. Reclining lazily upon a brocade quilt woven with golden threads, Madam Su wore a moon-white jacket embroidered with orchid motifs, slipping loosely from her shoulder to reveal a section of smooth, porcelain neck. Her eyes were half-lidded, languid yet veiled in bottomless nobility and cold disdain.
Qing Yan stood before the couch, his upper body bare, his shoulders broad and firm, his muscles smooth and defined. His sun-kissed skin glowed faintly, his waist tapering sharply—a strange mix of wildness and obedience bound in one form. Clad only in plain trousers below, he held a white porcelain fruit plate in one hand, plucked a peeled grape, and brought it slowly to her lips. The gesture was intimate, far beyond the bounds of master and servant, yet as natural as destiny in this courtyard. Madam Su parted her lips to take it, her mouth brushing his fingertip by chance. She did not even lift her eyes, her breath soft and ambiguous.
The two waiting maids on either side wore nothing but pink silk stomachers, their fair skin fully exposed, not a scrap of cloth covering their lower halves. They stood stiffly with hands folded, not daring to breathe too loudly.
The maid on the left, holding a silk fan, waved it gently, sending thin cool air toward the couch. She kept her head lowered, obedient and fawning, not daring to speak out of turn: "Rest easy, Madam. This servant will fan you."
The maid on the right clutched a large, fierce hound in her arms—thick-boned, with glossy, heavy fur. Its massive head rested against her neck, tongue lolling long, drool trickling slightly. Its heavy breath washed over her snow-white skin again and again. The maid froze, not daring to move an inch, mechanically stroking its thick fur.
Madam Su's gaze lingered quietly on the spot where the dog pressed against her maid.
She watched so long that the maid trembled all over, barely able to stand.
Suddenly she spoke, her voice soft, turning lazily toward the maid: "What do you think of this dog?"
The maid was terrified, her voice shaking violently: "M-Madam… the dog is intelligent, most obedient and loyal. It knows no master but you."
Madam Su curled her lips slowly into a faint smile, her eyes as cold as if submerged in ice water.
She spoke softly, each word deliberate:
"Obedient. Loyal. Sensible. Never barks where it shouldn't."
After a pause, her gaze swept over the hound, then over the maid's bare, tense body. She added slowly:
"Truly two fine dogs."
At those words, the maid's legs went weak, and she nearly collapsed to her knees.
Qing Yan kept his head lowered, as if he had heard nothing, steadily offering grapes.
The air thickened with something sticky, absurd, suffocating—words that seemed to speak of dogs, yet of people too; of observation, yet of possession. One dared not think too deeply, for a single thought sent chills down the spine.
Madam Su tapped the edge of the couch lightly with her fingertip, her tone cool, calm to the point of cruelty:
"One word of what happens in this courtyard to anyone outside, and you will be beaten to death without question, then dragged to the mass grave."
The two maids turned ashen, kneeling heavily, not daring to lift their heads.
They knew better than anyone that this mistress was the true ruler of the Su family. The manors, the shops, the storehouses, the silver—all were clenched in her hands alone. Though the master was head of the household, he held her in equal parts reverence and fear, obeying her in all things.
Those who served in her courtyard were all family-born servants, generation after generation enslaved, born Su, dying Su. Betrayal meant death. Precisely for this reason could she act so fearlessly, so recklessly.
A quiet thought turned in her mind. These hereditary servants were loyal and controllable, far more reliable than those bought from outside. And that was why she could sit securely as mistress, holding all in her palm without moving a muscle—including the master's body, his heirs, every one of his unspoken, shameful desires.
It was the day Yunxiu came to report as usual.
This maid seemed to be an orphan girl taken in by the young lady in childhood, her close and trusted companion.
But only Madam Su knew: Yunxiu was a chess piece she had placed long ago. No family, no ties, clean background, easy to control. She only needed to report at fixed intervals, discreetly, keeping the young lady's every move under her thumb.
Moments later, Yunxiu entered quietly, bowing deeply, respectfully: "This servant greets Madam."
Madam Su spoke calmly: "How has the young lady been lately? Speak plainly."
Yunxiu's words were steady and complete: "Madam, the young lady has recently tried to establish her authority, but her temperament is still too soft. A few days ago, when she punished the guards by the wandering stream, the waiting maids around her hesitated to act. The young lady grew angry, yet those below understand: she lacks the ruthlessness to rule. If this continues, when she takes charge of the household, she will not be able to keep the people in line."
Madam Su listened quietly, her expression unchanged. She understood perfectly.
She had chosen well, after all.
"I see. Continue to watch. Report again if anything changes."
"Yes, Madam. This servant obeys."
Yunxiu bowed and retreated, saying no more, looking no more, perfectly proper in every way.
Once she was gone, Madam Su straightened her robes slowly. The lazy, ambiguous air slipped away entirely, leaving only the dignified composure of the head mistress.
"To the master's study."
When she pushed open the door, her gaze first fell upon Chuntao standing nearby.
In one glance, her heart jolted faintly.
The girl was soft and pure, round-faced, fair-skinned, with gentle, harmless eyes. She looked timid, like a defenseless little rabbit—innocent, clean, unspoiled.
She bore a striking seven-point resemblance to the woman from years ago—the same soft, sweet, rabbit-like creature she had quietly disposed of.
Yet her face remained gentle, smiling softly, not a ripple visible. Only a flicker of coldness passed through her heart.
Very well. After all these years, he still clung to that woman. And now he had kept a maid who looked just like her.
Madam Su spoke in a warm, casual tone, turning first to Chuntao:
"You're new here? What is your name?"
Chuntao was already nervous, and under her gaze, she tensed further. Her curtsy was clumsy and foolish, revealing her naivety to the ways of the world.
She lowered her head timidly and replied softly:
"Madam… this servant is Chuntao."
"Chuntao… a sweet name."
Madam Su nodded slightly, studying her again with a gentle smile, yet her words carried hidden meaning:
"There's something about your face and figure that reminds me of someone I once knew. You look very familiar."
Chuntao could not hear the hidden message, thinking only that the madam was truly praising her. She spoke foolishly, in a small voice:
"Madam… you're so beautiful, and so kind…"
The words were simple and sincere, utterly genuine in her belief that the mistress was a good person.
Madam Su chuckled softly, then asked gently: "Have you settled in well these days? Are your food and clothes to your liking?"
Chuntao nodded quickly: "Yes, Madam. Everything is fine… I'm used to it all."
"Good." Madam Su's voice was soft, but her gaze flicked unintentionally toward the master.
"We are the wealthiest family in Qingxi County. We have rules, but we treat our servants generously. Stay obedient, and you will live well here. Do not overstep your place, even if someone thinks highly of you."
The words sounded like a warning to Chuntao, but every syllable struck the master's heart.
The master's heart softened unconsciously as he watched.
He had chanced upon Chuntao while passing by, seen that she looked seven parts like the illegitimate daughter he had hidden away, too afraid to acknowledge, and bought her from a human broker on a whim.
Seeing her so foolish and timid, still innocently believing the madam to be kind, he instinctively wished to protect her. Before Chuntao could speak again, he intervened calmly, smoothing over her awkwardness subtly, his tone steady, showing no favoritism—though favoritism there was.
"She was recently brought in to attend me. Simple-minded, unaccustomed to rules. I hope you will forgive her, Madam."
Madam Su's gaze fell lightly upon him, casual: "She does not look like a usual assignment. You have gone to some trouble for her, Master."
The master's expression did not shift. He spoke calmly: "She is just a simple, agreeable girl. I bought her on a whim."
Madam Su raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly: "Oh? Bought from outside? Yet her dress and bearing seem proper… as if she has already been entered into the Su family's servant rolls."
The master's heart skipped slightly, but his face remained calm: "You have a sharp eye, Madam. She seems obedient, so I made her a family-born servant. That way she may serve here peacefully."
Madam Su smiled lightly and said no more.
Chuntao stood to one side, timid and innocent, still believing the madam gentle and kind, completely unaware of the undercurrent surging around her.
But Madam Su had already seen everything between the lines. The master had spent a good sum to buy this girl from outside, then made her a family-born servant, binding her to the household for life. His fixation was clear.
Her mind was perfectly clear.
Though the Sus were the richest family in Qingxi, they were merely local gentry, unable to summon imperial physicians. For ordinary ailments, they called upon the most reputable doctor in town.
All these years, she had instructed the trusted doctor to prepare the master a daily decoction. On the surface, it tonified the kidneys and warmed the body. In truth, it was a slow-acting fertility inhibitor, harmless to life itself, but ensuring he could sire no more children.
And the master still believed her lies completely, thinking his own body was weak, his Yang energy insufficient, that this was why he had no son.
A quiet, secret satisfaction spread through her, yet she showed nothing, her voice still gentle: "Everyone in town is celebrating the birth of children lately. They say the Su family is prosperous, blessed with many sons and grandchildren. It is a pity I lack fortune, and have not given you a son after all these years."
The master grew increasingly guilty and distressed, sighing repeatedly: "It is not your fault, Madam. My own health is poor, my Yang energy lacking. I am simply fated to have no heir."
Madam Su soothed him softly, a flash of coldness crossing her eyes.
She looked at the man she held firmly in her grasp—reverent, fearful, full of secrets yet willing to submit—and then at Chuntao, who resembled the old woman and whom he secretly protected. A more proper arrangement slowly took shape in her mind.
This girl was too noticeable, and too dear to the master. Keeping her in the manor would require a purpose—and a way to keep her under watch.
Three birds with one stone. It would be no trouble at all.
Madam Su's smile remained gentle and dignified, her tone warm and ordinary, as if this were just a casual visit.
She did not know the master had bought Chuntao not for her resemblance to the old lover, but to the illegitimate daughter he had hidden for more than ten years.
Nor did the master suspect that the woman he loved obsessively, feared to his bones, had already planned the newcomer maid's fate.
One misunderstanding layered over another secret.
Beneath a gentle exterior lay thoughts no one could fathom.
Madam Su rose slowly and took her leave with dignified grace.
The moment she stepped outside the door, her gentle expression did not fade—but deep in her eyes, a sliver of nearly invisible coldness appeared.
Days to come were still long.