CHAPTER THIRTY
The Cold Storm
The news of the tragedy traveled fast, and it did not take long for the family to gather. The carriage doors opened, and the parents of both Wei Zhanyuan and Shen Mingzhu stepped out into the crushing silence of the courtyard. Wei Tianlong and Wei Roulan, who usually brought an aura of loud dignity and quiet control to the estate, walked with heavy, hesitant steps. Behind them came Shen Boqian and Shen Yuemei, their faces pale with an absolute dread. They had all hurried to the house because it was only reasonable to return when a devastating blow had struck their children.
They found the main estate completely altered. The chaotic, joyful noise that usually defined the home had been stripped away. In the central hall, Wei Zhanyuan stood like a statue of ice, his eyes bloodshot, while Shen Mingzhu sat rigidly, her pale face completely drained of its usual composed warmth.
When the parents rushed inside, the first embrace was thick with unshed tears. It was during this heavy moment that the deep, complicated reality of their situation was laid bare. Shen Yuemei held her daughter close, feeling the sharp tremors in Mingzhu's small body, and that was when the double-edged news was finally spoken aloud.
Mingzhu was pregnant. A new life was growing inside her, a sliver of bright hope meant to bring pure joy to both families. But the words of celebration died instantly in their throats, because the very next breath carried the weight of a terrible death. The story was told in raw, quiet detail. Lu Douhua, the vibrant and chaotic heart of the household servants, had been found dead on the floor. The contrast was too cruel to bear — a new child was coming, but the young mother who had just given life to her own baby was gone forever.
The room filled with a low, agonizing sorrow. Shen Boqian shook his head, his hands trembling as he thought of the bright girl who had always caused mild chaos in their lives. Then, his thoughts turned toward the living.
"Where is Baozi?" Boqian asked, his voice rough. "Where is the child?"
Zhanyuan pointed silently toward the back corridor.
The parents went together to find Feng Baozi. When they entered his small quarters, the sight broke their hearts entirely. The round, funny energy that usually defined the young man was completely gone. He sat in the dim light, his eyes staring blankly at the wall, while the tiny, newborn baby slept in a basket beside him.
Shen Boqian stepped forward gently, placing a heavy hand on Baozi's slumped shoulder. "Baozi," the older man said softly. "You cannot stay here like this. You have no experience with a newborn, and you are not in the right state of mind to care for this child right now. Come home with us. Let the Shen family take the baby into our house. We will raise him, feed him, and protect him while you find a way to breathe again."
Baozi's head snapped up. His eyes, usually full of comedic relief, were filled with a terrifying, wild rage. "No," he hissed, his voice raw. "I am not leaving this estate. I am staying right here."
In his heart, Baozi was screaming for blood. He wanted to stay because he wanted to track down whoever had pushed his wife into a corner, and he wanted to tear them apart with his bare hands. He was blinded by a furious, reckless desire for immediate revenge.
The parents pleaded with him, using every soft word they could find, but Baozi remained stubborn. What the parents did not know was the dark secret hiding beneath the grief. Zhanyuan and Mingzhu had made a silent agreement. They did not tell Shen Boqian and Shen Yuemei, and they did not tell their own parents, that Uncle Wei Jingshan was the monster behind the blackmail and the death. They kept the older generation completely in the dark to protect them from the brutal storm that was about to come. To the parents, it looked like a tragic, inexplicable suicide caused by despair.
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Seeing that Baozi was entirely immovable, the families finally stepped back to give him space. The parents left the room to prepare a place for the baby's clothes, hoping Baozi would change his mind.
Left alone in the heavy silence, Baozi stood up to pack a small bag of Douhua's things, his movements angry and jagged. He pulled a wooden trunk from the corner, his mind spinning with dark plots of murder. As he bent down near the heavy wooden chair beside the bed, something caught his eye in the shadows.
When Douhua had fallen to the floor in her final moments, she had been clutching something tightly. In her struggle, a piece of paper had slipped from her fingers, sliding deep beneath the low frame of the furniture.
Baozi dropped to his knees on the cold floor. He reached his arm far into the dark space and pulled out a crumpled, folded letter. His breath hitched as he recognized Douhua's hurried, uneven handwriting.
He opened it with shaking fingers. As his eyes moved across the words, the hot, blind rage in his chest suddenly turned into an icy, calculated chill. It was a letter of warning. In her final, desperate moments, Douhua had written down the truth. She warned him about the terrifying reach of Uncle Wei Jingshan. She begged Baozi not to act recklessly, telling him that the uncle would kill him and their child without a second thought if he suspected they knew the truth. She explicitly wrote that he must protect their baby first.
The letter broke Baozi's reckless spirit, but it gave him something far more dangerous: a cold, brilliant strategy.
He stood up, his face completely calm. He folded the letter carefully and hid it deep inside his robes. He walked out of the room and found Mingzhu's parents waiting in the courtyard.
"I will go with you," Baozi said, his voice entirely flat and empty of emotion. "You are right. I cannot care for him here."
The parents let out sighs of relief, thinking the young man had simply accepted his grief. They did not see the deadly vow buried deep in his eyes. Baozi was playing a part now. He would go to the merchant house and play the role of a completely broken, helpless widower. He would make himself look entirely defeated so that the uncle would look at him and see absolutely no threat. He would let the enemy lower his guard completely, creating the perfect opportunity for the ultimate trap.
Meanwhile, in a luxurious courtyard on the other side of the city, a completely different conversation was taking place.
Wei Jingshan sat behind a polished desk, his face a mask of calm, wise innocence. But beneath the surface, his heart was pounding with a tense anxiety. The door opened, and the dark-clothed scout he had sent to the main estate slipped into the room.
"Speak," Jingshan commanded quietly. "Did you find anything?"
The scout bowed low. "My lord, I searched the entire area thoroughly. There is no evidence left behind. The girl died on the floor, and nothing connects her death to your name. The household believes it was a tragic suicide. The young assistant, Baozi, is entirely broken and is leaving for the countryside with the merchant family today."
Hearing these words, a massive weight lifted from Wei Jingshan's shoulders. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a long, slow breath of pure relief. He felt completely safe. The comedy piece of the household was gone, and no threads floated back to him.
Yet, as he looked out the window toward the direction of Zhanyuan's estate, his eyes narrowed into cold slits. His relief was cut by a sharp, lingering paranoia.
"The boy is no threat," Jingshan muttered to himself, his fingers tapping against the desk. "But the wife... Shen Mingzhu is a different matter. Her intelligence is quietly devastating. Even in her grief, that woman is still a massive threat to my eleven years of careful planning. If she begins to look too closely into the ledger lines, she could undo everything I have built."
He stood up, pacing the floor as his mind calculated the final pieces of his grand design. He needed to be absolutely certain that no old ghosts could rise up to aid her sharp mind.
Jingshan turned back to the scout, his voice dropping to a dark, authoritative whisper. "We cannot leave a single loose end. Go and write a letter to the old steward immediately — the one who managed our estate records and retired very early on. Find out exactly where he is hiding in the provinces. We must ensure his lips are sealed permanently before the Marquis or his wife think to question him about the past."
The scout nodded quickly, slipping out of the room to execute the order.
Wei Jingshan stood alone in the quiet room, a smug, dark smile spreading across his face. He believed he had covered every single track, entirely unaware that the broken widower had just discovered the ultimate truth, and that the feared Marquis was already preparing an unyielding reckoning.