Fu Yi’s tone was exceedingly calm, as though he were soberly and rationally weighing the pros and cons for the Princess Consort. Yet his eyes never left her, catching that fleeting flash of panic in hers.

The Princess Consort’s sharp nails had already dug into her flesh. Her heart thudded with anxiety, and her voice softened at once as she looked at Fu Yi with a pleading expression. “How could you say that? You are my son—you’re the one who matters most, of course. It’s just that Qingyun is a girl, and life is already hard enough for women in this world. She’s been by my side since childhood… it’s only natural I find it hard to let go…”

“Then Mother should take some time to think things over. From what Father said, he’s planning to hand some matters back to Eldest Brother. It seems he’s forgiven him. Concubine Zhou has been conducting herself with grace and propriety. Father’s mood has improved a great deal lately. You’ve always been the one with more foresight than I—surely you see where the balance lies.”

The Princess Consort’s face turned pale. She opened her mouth several times, wanting to speak, but no words came. What Fu Yi said made her burn with unwilling frustration—she wished she could rip off Zhou Sichun’s hypocritical mask then and there. But when it came to Qingyun’s marriage, she couldn’t bring herself to make a move…

“Yi’er, think of another way, won’t you? Just—”

“Please take care of your health, Mother. I should return to the study now.”

Fu Yi sidestepped the hand she reached out to seize him, and quietly withdrew from the room.

So, the difference really had been that stark—so stark it was jarring. Why hadn’t he noticed it in his past life? He should have seen it all along.

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Outside the courtyard, Fu Yi hesitated a moment, then pivoted on his heel. “To Suiyun Pavilion.”

Inside, the Princess Consort’s complexion shifted from pale to livid as her teeth ground together. “No. I can’t let Zhou Sichun keep running wild. I won’t let Fu Xiao rise again!”

“But Qingyun… I can’t let her leave me. No matter what, I have to keep her close.”

“Fu Yanghong, you bastard! You favor the concubine and cast off the wife—may you die a miserable death!”

Granny Chang stood by, offering feeble words of comfort. The Princess Consort’s eyes had gone glassy, flickering with a restless madness—clearly, she was pushing herself to the edge of ruin.

“What should I do, Nanny? Tell me—what am I supposed to do?”

Granny Chang wiped away the tears seeping from the Princess Consort’s eyes as she collapsed into her arms. After a long pause, she let out a heavy sigh. “I warned you not to take that step back then. It wasn’t some stray cat or dog you were dealing with. But you wouldn’t listen. And now? What can be done…”

The Princess Consort ground her back teeth so hard they let out a grating squeal. “I don’t regret it. Give me a hundred chances and I would still make the same choice. I will never let anyone step over me—never! It’s just… just that Qingyun is innocent…”

Granny Chang said nothing. The Princess Consort had her own sorrows, but even though she had always stood by her mistress, always acted for her sake, she couldn’t help but wonder: if Lu Qingyun was innocent, then what about Fu Yi?

A tangle of fated sins, all of it…

…

The atmosphere at the Duke of England’s manor had grown subtly tense these past few days.

Bai Jinghuai had accepted an invitation from Fu Yanghong a while back—something Lady Qiao was well aware of. Now the appointed day was drawing near, yet Bai Jinghuai still dared not bring it up.

Lady Qiao knew well how deeply Bai Jinghuai valued old ties; decades of friendship couldn’t be severed on a whim. So from time to time, she’d slip in a little barb.

“Another gift from Prince Ping’s household. Said it’s to make amends. Why don’t you ask them—what exactly are they apologizing for? What sin was committed? If they can’t explain, I’m not accepting a thing.”

She’d tossed these petty matters to Bai Jinghuai more than once—just to keep the reminder sharp: it was Prince Ping’s household that had wronged them.