Chapter 13: Second Young Lady in Peril

“Miss, what’s wrong? You seem a little unwell.” Hongyu asked tentatively.

Seeing Shen Qingyun’s flushed cheeks, the beads of sweat gathering on her nose, and her groggy, drowsy expression, Hongyu hurried forward to steady her mistress, who was on the verge of collapsing. “Are you tired, miss? Let me help you to bed.”

Shen Qingyun murmured something indistinct, unable to speak clearly, and simply leaned limply against Hongyu, who guided her gently to the bed.

Hongyu was alarmed. Could the medicine truly be this potent?

Perhaps it was for the best. She quickly let down the bed curtains, then turned to keep watch by the door.

Meanwhile, Jiang Lin was making his way toward Shen Qingyun’s room with a box of pastries in hand.

He felt rather uneasy. When the Marchioness had learned he and Shen Qingyun had gone their separate ways while strolling the hills, she had scolded him for his lack of consideration and sent him with a box of pastries to apologize.

He regretted agreeing. He thought he ought to dislike Shen Qingyun, yet for some unknown reason, she lingered in his thoughts these past days; even his mother’s requests didn’t seem so irksome anymore.

Without realizing it, he found himself standing outside Shen Qingyun’s chamber.

He knocked lightly. “Sister Qingyun, are you there?”

There was no response. Jiang Lin grew irritated, ready to rebuke her for her lack of manners, when faintly, a woman’s voice drifted out from within.

“Mmm… hot… so uncomfortable…”

Though the door muffled her words, Jiang Lin sensed something was amiss. He was about to knock again when, suddenly, the door swung open. A strange, intoxicating fragrance wafted out, making him cough as his mind grew hazy.

He vaguely saw a petite young woman standing before him.

Within the chamber, whatever transpired was unknown to Madam Han. She was still kneeling devoutly before the Buddha, praying for the safe and peaceful future of the daughter she had recovered after fourteen years apart, convinced the reunion was a blessing from the gods.

The Marchioness, by contrast, remained composed. She had just stepped out for some air to learn what was happening. She wondered whether Jiang Lin had spoken properly with Shen Qingyun yet.

So much time had passed without news—were they perhaps getting along well?

Before she could dwell further, her chief maid rushed in, flustered, and whispered, “Madam, something has happened.”

The Marchioness’s eyelid twitched. Glancing at the absorbed Madam Han, she slipped to a corner and spoke quietly, “What’s happened? Is this a sacred place or a marketplace, with all this commotion!”

The maid looked troubled. “Madam, the young master hasn’t returned. I sent someone to look for him and was told he entered the second miss of the Shen family’s chamber and never came out. The maids sent to check… they said…”

“Speak up already!” the Marchioness said impatiently.

The maid, eyes shut in embarrassment, finally blurted, “They said strange noises were coming from Miss Shen’s room, as if… as if someone was… doing those things.” By now, her face was bright red.

Those things?

Could it be what she thought?

The Marchioness was stunned.

Wasn’t this all happening a bit too quickly?

But perhaps it was for the best. If the deed was done, Shen Qingyun would have no choice but to marry into the family. Still, the reputation of both households was at stake—this could not be made public.

But how to break the news to Madam Han?

After a moment’s thought, the Marchioness decided to feign ignorance. She put on a worried expression and approached, saying, “Rou’er, the servants say Qingyun is unwell. Lin’er’s already gone to check on her. Don’t worry too much.”

“What, what’s happened to Qingyun?”

“I’m not sure. That’s just what the servants reported. Let’s go look in on her together.”

“Yes, yes, let’s go now!”

Madam Han couldn’t sit still a moment longer. She rose and hurried with the Marchioness toward Shen Qingyun’s room.

The Marchioness had already instructed the maids to guard the doorway and keep others away. When Madam Han arrived, she found several maids standing outside, their faces flushed, not saying a word.

“Is Qingyun inside?” Madam Han asked, reaching to push open the door.

As she drew near, she heard the unmistakable sounds that made her ears burn—feminine moans intertwined with a man’s heavy breathing. She froze, paralyzed.

The Marchioness adopted an expression of shocked disbelief. “Those sounds—who is inside?”

A maid answered with a bow, “It should be the young master and the Shen family’s second miss.”

“Nonsense!” Madam Han snapped, but she too was uncertain who was within, and her hand trembled as she reached for the door.

The Marchioness, watching Madam Han, felt a trace of schadenfreude.

They had once been on good terms as girls, but Han Rou’s family had always outranked hers. Why should Han Rou marry an ideal husband, remain childless, and the lord never take concubines? And look at herself—her days of happiness had been brief; her husband had died young, the marquisate had declined, and she had raised two children alone, enduring hardship and loneliness.

Why was fate so unfair?

Over the years, Han Rou had helped the marquisate generously, but surely she must have pitied her as well.

Now, if Shen Qingyun truly lost her honor to her son, unless the marquisate agreed to the match, she would be forced to become a concubine. Of course, she wouldn’t be so heartless, but there would certainly be demands for more dowry as compensation. After all, who would want a woman who lost her virtue before marriage?

The Marchioness calculated busily, already envisioning Shen Qingyun as her daughter-in-law—obedient, diligent, and filial, offering her gold and silver every day.

She masked her delight with concern and said, “Qingyun is always so proper and well-mannered. I cannot believe she would do such a thing. It must be some servant, taking advantage while the mistress is away, indulging in broad daylight and sullying Qingyun’s good name. I will not let this pass!”

The higher Shen Qingyun was praised now, the harder her fall when the truth emerged.

With that, she pushed open the door.

Remembering her son was still inside, only the Marchioness and Madam Han entered.

The sudden intrusion startled the two figures on the bed. Beneath the curtains, all sounds ceased. Only two vague silhouettes could be seen—a man and a woman—hastily clutching the quilt in panic.

Pain stabbed at Madam Han’s heart. In a trembling voice, she called out, “Qingyun, is that you? Mother is here.”

“Mother.” The soft, sweet voice answered—it was indeed Shen Qingyun.