Chapter 26 Deterioration: Marital Rift

Chapter 26: Going Sour—A Crack Between Husband and Wife

As summer turned to autumn, a crisp autumn breeze started blowing, and the weather grew colder day by day. The cries of wild geese echoed long, frost painted the red leaves, and the sweltering, sweat-soaked heat of midsummer was gradually replaced by a crisp coolness.

The Xies left, and everything returned to tranquility. The sun rose as usual.

The Yu household was enveloped in a joyous and festive atmosphere. Except for Kuju, who was moping around, everyone else actively decorated the estate, prepared the dowry, and got ready for the upcoming wedding of the Third Young Lady.

Fortunately, Xu Junzheng wasn’t implicated in the imperial examination scandal and got promoted to Hanlin Bachelor as usual.

He dodged this bullet mostly because Xie Tanwei took the blame, and also because the Emperor had been deathly sick for days, with no sons to succeed him. The court officials were busy debating the matter of succession, leaving no time to delve deeply into the tangled examination scandal.

The wedding was set for the tenth day of the eleventh lunar month, a day the matchmaker picked after a lot of careful thought. Tian Qin and Xu Junzheng’s birth charts were checked and matched perfectly, mutually reinforcing and harmonious. Xu’s mother was head over heels for Tian Qin as a daughter-in-law, kept saying she had a face that brings good luck to her husband, and claimed she would surely bear children to expand the Xu family.

Tian Qin blushed shyly at the teasing, her cheeks tinged with a delicate red. Her long hair was lightly tied back like flowing clouds, and she appeared quiet and reserved, she could barely hide her joy—she was extremely happy.

Standing next to her, Xu Junzheng was even shyer, his face red as a tomato, a refined and handsome groom. But a hint of worry creased his brow, as if he were still brooding over the examination scandal.

“A perfect match, a match made in heaven,” the fortune-teller said, beaming.

“Harmony in marriage, happiness for a hundred years,” the crowd echoed, everyone laughing and cheering for the soon-to-be-wed couple, their enthusiasm and hope blazing like fire.

In all this joy, Xu Junzheng often felt sad. He could never forget that this peace and happiness were stolen goods, that he had wronged Master Xie and felt guilty, driving him away. He’d be weighed down by guilt for the rest of his life.

Even being around Tian Qin made Xu Junzheng physically uncomfortable. It was Tian Qin who had handed him the answers herself, dragging him into a moral abyss.

He didn’t blame Tian Qin. Sister Tian was the best person in the world; he just needed time to process this unbearable feeling.

Tian Qin knew exactly how Xu Junzheng felt.

But she’d come this far, she had to marry him. She wasn’t looking for true love, just stability. Xu Junzheng was soft, easy for her to control, and that was enough.

With the Xu family’s sudden good fortune, the betrothal gifts they offered were piled up like mountains, all valuable items. Yet the Xu family wasn’t a long-established noble clan; their gifts lacked the depth of antiques, calligraphy, or paintings—things that required heritage—nothing compared to what the Xie family had once given Xian Qiu.

Still, Tian Qin got her dream of a big dowry and a fancy wedding.

Lying in her room, Tian Qin reached out her hand, tracing the patterns on her bed canopy in the air, a faint smile on her face.

As a lowly concubine’s daughter, to have made it this far on her own, and become the Principal Wife running the household, she was content.

Even if Xu Junzheng took concubines, she’d be in charge, kneeling to serve her tea and do as she said. She didn’t have to worry about hunger, cold, or sickness anymore, or have nightmares about her brother-in-law in the middle of the night.

Taking control of her own fate tasted really sweet.

The best part was that Xie Tanwei had been exiled far away, never to be seen again. Whenever she felt anxious, thinking of that was like a painkiller.

Yu Yuan found Tian Qin and told her the Emperor was dying: “Your father thinks we should move the wedding up a few days. Xu’s mother has agreed too. Otherwise, if it lands during the national mourning period…”

Yu Yuan was careful, his brow furrowed with worry.

This was news from Sister Suanzhi at the palace—the Emperor’s condition had gotten worse than anyone could imagine. Yu Yuan was panicked; the imperial family had always been the Yu family’s greatest support. If the Emperor passed away, the Yu family would be at the mercy of others.

Tian Qin was displeased upon hearing this.

What timing—to land during a national mourning period. It seemed like an extremely ominous omen.

In the air, a faint sense of impending storm loomed.

…

Xie Tanwei, accompanied by his wife and his official seal, slowly returned to his old domain. The new capital was his fief, and barring any unforeseen events, he would spend a long, lonely, and desolate time here.

Passing through counties and prefectures, officials and notable figures, hearing of his arrival, vied to pay their respects, offering him gold, silver, and treasures in an attempt to befriend him—much like the story of Pan An being showered with fruit in his carriage.

Xie Tanwei accepted none of it and paid no heed to any of them.

The only thing he carried with him was a seven-foot-two-inch, wood-colored, antique jiaowei guqin, whose strings had been replaced many times over the years.

All that remained was the ethereal, resonant sound of the qin.

The sage Confucius once fell on hard times, traveling through various states. And Xie Tanwei, seemingly possessing the virtue of the Duke of Zhou, was pushed to the fringes of power—his fate strikingly similar to Confucius’s.

The old mansion in his homeland, untouched for years, was covered in dust. After enduring the city’s turmoil, its interior was cold, dark, and filled with a rotting smell.

The local townsfolk stopped repeatedly, peering in disbelief, sympathizing with Xie Tanwei’s plight of being accused of plagiarism and then exiled. Yet they also felt a sense of pride—the man closest to a sage in history now lived here, filling the entire street with an aura of profound culture.

Xian Qiu hired a matchmaker to buy new maidservants and managed the affairs of the new residence. Amid the stability, she harbored hidden worries.

What Xie Tanwei had wanted was Tian Qin, but in the end, he was given Kuju. No, not even Kuju—the Xie family had shown kindness to the Yu family, yet the Yu family had kicked them when they were down, turning against them at the worst moment.

Because of this, a crack had formed in their marital relationship. On the surface, it was calm, but beneath, the dark currents of turmoil were barely contained, crashing against the rocks.

Xian Qiu regretted her jealousy. If she had given Tian Qin to Xie Tanwei, things might have been different now.

She took the initiative to approach Xie Tanwei, acting virtuous and considerate, trying to mend the rift between them.

But Xie Tanwei always maintained a distant, neither warm nor cold attitude. He was a good husband, a good head of the household, but not a good lover—quietly proud, yet devoid of warmth, supporting their exiled little family. At night, he kept his distance, making her feel as if she were living as a widow.

Xie Tanwei had let go of Tian Qin, yet it seemed he hadn’t. They had broken ties completely, with no possibility of reconciliation, and he never mentioned her name again.

He had said, “If you are heartless, then I will stop,” and he meant it. If any emotion remained for Tian Qin, it was a lingering, meaningful hatred, lurking in the dark stillness, ready to stir.

Xie Tanwei became a regular at the Drunken Fragrance Pavilion, indulging in debauchery. By day, he maintained the image of a refined sage; by night, he shed his skin to become a thorough demon, reeking of rouge and powder.

The girls at the Drunken Fragrance Pavilion were all on high alert. It was said that Lord Xie’s wife was born a stone woman, unable to bear children. If anyone could win Lord Xie over, their future would be blessed.

Yet Xie Tanwei passed through a myriad of flowers without a single leaf touching him. He joked and played, but no one ever managed to make him stay the night, let alone bear his child and rise to prominence.

He had no need to worry about damage to his reputation. People of his caliber had the local prefect to keep secrets for him. Anyone who dared to utter a single extra word would likely end up silenced, dying with their eyes open.

One day, he brought back a girl, bought for a gold ingot. He said lazily to Xian Qiu, as usual, “She’ll serve as a maidservant for you, save you the trouble.” There was a faint resemblance in her brows and eyes to Tian Qin.

The maidservant curtsied gracefully, her smile as clear and sweet as Tian Qin’s: “Greetings, Madam.”

Xian Qiu was stunned. “My lord…”

She opened her mouth but found no words.

“What’s wrong?” Xie Tanwei dismissed the maidservant, his long, spring-water-cold, soft hand tapping her chest lightly. “Don’t you like it?”

Xian Qiu swallowed her tears. Sharing a roof with a woman from a brothel was a supreme humiliation. “My lord, you cannot do this.”

Xie Tanwei raised his eyelids, murmuring softly, leaning close to her ear, making her heart skip a beat. “You’re always trying to push women on me, aren’t you? She’s your sister too. Or perhaps you want a divorce, to return to the Yu family’s wealthy life in the capital? I’ll grant it. Ingratitude is your Yu family’s specialty—you must have inherited it well.”

Xian Qiu shuddered with cold, as if she were being sliced apart inch by inch.

His words turned into a thousand knives and swords, coming from the mouth of the person closest to her, mercilessly stabbing into her heart.

She swayed, her vision going dark, reeling from a devastating blow, her already frail body about to give out.

Xie Tanwei just watched in cold silence, devoid of emotion or humanity, completely unmoved. Like if she died right in front of him, it wouldn't matter—it'd just be a good show, maybe even funny.

Xian Qiu refused to let go of his sleeve, sobbing, "Husband! I am willing to stay by your side willingly. Let me repay the Yu family's debts to you alone."

Repay? How could she? In his eyes, her genuine feelings were nothing but hypocrisy, unworthy of the slightest pity.

Xie Tanwei's eyes were scarily dark, but his voice was soft and smooth like a spring, he said soothingly, "No need. Let the lady enjoy her leisure—buy a few more maids to wait on you. As for the Yu family's debts, when I catch them, there will be a reckoning."

He patted her cheek with a confident, teasing air, then left. One by one, nice and slow—no one's getting away.

Alone in the empty room, Xian Qiu couldn't hold on any longer. She collapsed onto the hard floor, tears pouring down.

How did it come to this? How?

Regret, pain, torment, anguish—they boiled her insides like a pot, burning her from the inside out. The pain of a thousand cuts couldn't compare.

...

Xie Tanwei, as the foremost powerful minister and the "sage" in the eyes of Confucian scholars, threatened the throne with his theory of the sage as king, making him a thorn in the side of royal supporters everywhere.

After a lot of scheming, they finally managed to kick him out of the capital using a fabricated exam scandal, yet the royal family's precarious plight did not ease.

Disasters struck frequently.

First came floods and plagues, plunging the land into misery. Then, like mushrooms after rain, ballads predicting the dynasty's fall popped up all over the country, spreading from one to ten, ten to a hundred, becoming a collective phenomenon that sparked panic. Even many officials joined in singing them.

This matter spiraled completely out of control, adding insult to injury for the emperor, who was already bedridden and gasping for breath, exuding the terrifying aura of a dying kingdom.

A few days later, an unusual celestial phenomenon occurred: a sudden solar eclipse. The sun represents the sovereign; its erosion was an extremely ominous omen. A group of Confucian officials, interpreting it through the theory of the unity of heaven and man, declared that the emperor was wrong, that he had angered heaven, and that he bore great guilt.

The emperor, startled awake on his deathbed, issued a self-criticism edict in terror. Yet his lengthy confession did not sway heaven's punishment. An even more terrifying celestial phenomenon, one capable of shaking the realm—"Yinghuo Shou Xin" (Mars guarding the heart constellation)—followed.

Yinghuo Shou Xin: the emperor shall perish.

At this point, the entire court, raised on Confucian theories of heaven and man, had concluded that the emperor had brought about his own downfall through his many misdeeds. Never since the founding of the dynasty had such a fearsome celestial sign occurred. It was heaven's severe punishment for the emperor's expulsion of the sage and slander of the loyal minister.

Perhaps only Xie Tanwei's return could quell heaven's thunderous wrath and save the entire dynasty.

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Update tomorrow at 6 PM, same time from now on [Dog head holding a rose]