Chapter 73: Unafraid of Yin and Yang, Love Endures

To share life’s bed and to rest in death’s embrace—such shocking yet profound devotion, how many women in the world could truly do so?

Shen Yu gazed at Chu Xiu, who lay lifeless in the coffin, a surge of fury and alarm welling within him. He quickly bent down to check her breath, and as his hand reached out, he steeled himself against the pain. “She suffocated in the coffin,” he said. Otherwise, her cheeks would not be so strangely flushed.

But the Dowager’s voice came cold and unyielding: “Bring her out! Such a spineless woman is unworthy to share a coffin with Ci’er, much less to be a daughter-in-law of the Yun family!”

Stunned, Shen Yu hesitated, but the Dowager glanced at him again and added, “She may yet be saved. This coffin was not meant for Ci’er’s burial; there are tiny air holes in the wood, though very fine.”

Hearing this, Shen Yu immediately reached out, lifting Chu Xiu from the coffin. He pressed her philtrum and checked her pulse, beginning resuscitation. In that moment, he was profoundly grateful for his skills as a physician.

After a long and desperate effort, sweat poured from his brow; a single drop fell, landing upon Chu Xiu’s eyelid. At that very instant, her long lashes fluttered, and a faint cough escaped her lips—she finally awakened, though her gaze was hollow and lost.

“So you’re not quite dead yet.” The Dowager stepped before Chu Xiu, suddenly raising her right hand and striking her across the face. The sharp crack left a red mark of five fingers. “My son gave his life to save you, and you would choose to die with him instead?”

“Dowager!” Shen Yu, holding Chu Xiu, tried to intervene, but it was too late.

In the silent mourning hall, only Chu Xiu’s faint breath could be heard. Slowly, she seemed to comprehend, her deadened eyes turning toward the Dowager, grief and despair gradually rising within them.

“In the front hall, every member of the Yun clan is circling like wolves, their eyes fixed on the Marquis’s title. Yet you think not of preserving his position, nor of avenging Ci’er, but only of squandering your own life—can you face him, having done so?” The Dowager’s anger grew with every word, her chest heaving, her frame trembling as if she might collapse.

“Han Chu…” Shen Yu spoke at last, a mingling of reproach and tender sorrow in his voice as he pressed his chin to her forehead. “If you care so little for your own life, how can Wan Zhi’s spirit find peace below?”

At the same time, the Dowager shot Shen Yu a glance. “Let’s leave her! She had the courage to die, but not to avenge Ci’er. Did Ci’er love in vain, losing his life for her?”

With these words, the Dowager saw a flicker of movement in Chu Xiu’s expression and rebuked her again: “For hundreds of years, the Yun family’s matriarchs have all been women of courage and resolve. Someone so timid and weak as you dares dream of entering our family? How could you ever be worthy of Ci’er? The front hall is filled with quarrels and strife—I have no time to waste on an outsider like you!”

With that, she strode from the mourning hall without another glance, not even at Yun Ci’s half-open coffin, heading straight for the front.

Shen Yu looked down at Chu Xiu, half-leaning in his arms, and his heart ached. “Han Chu…”

Yet at the sound of her old name, Chu Xiu seemed not to hear. Slowly, she rose and walked to the coffin’s side. The one within lay at peace, a faint smile lingering on his lips, as though he had left this world without regret. But how could there be none? He was gone—cold, alone, with no companion on the road to the Yellow Springs—leaving her to walk this world in solitude. What was left to support her will to live?

His serene features were lifelike still. Chu Xiu reached out, gently tracing from Yun Ci’s brow, along his nose, cheeks, and lips, afraid to miss the last touch of his skin.

Gradually, tears fell, streaking the coffin and darkening the white robe at his collar—a final mark of her grief upon him.

Who could have foreseen that her vow—never to meet again in life or death—would become a curse, forever separating them? Now, she was not even worthy to rest by his side in death.

Had she known, why did she speak so resolutely to him that final day in the Hall of Judgement? Yet without that act of resolve, she could never have broken the Heart-Piercing Gu, and he might not have died so young.

Fate entangles all things; destiny overturns the heavens with cruelty beyond belief.

Weeping, Chu Xiu clung to the coffin’s edge, her sobs wracking her frail frame. Only after a long while did she wipe her tears, rise, and turn to Shen Yu, who had guarded her all this time.

“I must trouble you, Young Marquis, to help me seal his coffin,” she said.

In silence, Shen Yu stepped forward, taking her hands and helping to close the lid. That noble, radiant face slowly vanished from their sight, hidden once more beneath the sandalwood, along with Chu Xiu’s own cowardly, selfish, escapist heart.

The Dowager was right—the Yun family’s daughters-in-law were all women of courage. Her weakness had shamed the depth of his devotion.

Her hands trembling, Chu Xiu drew from her sleeve the marriage contract that had never been fulfilled. She still remembered vividly the day Yun Ci tricked her into signing it.

This would be the last time she gazed upon him, the last time she shed tears for him. From now on, life and death would not be a barrier—she would remain true to him, faithful in body and soul, longing each day to see him again in dreams.

Even in death, he must not die in vain! The Dowager had lost both husband and son, yet held strong; if Chu Xiu were to follow him, leaving his mother alone to struggle in the perilous Marquis’s household, how could he ever rest in peace?

Still kneeling, Chu Xiu caressed the cloud carvings on the coffin lid, her expression reverent and solemn. After a long time, she closed her grief-stricken eyes. When she opened them again, they were clear and resolute.

Yun Ci, if your spirit lingers above, protect me as I avenge your death and support the Yun family’s legacy. Walk slowly—wait for me, and in another life, we’ll go together, hand in hand.

“I cannot follow you, Young Marquis.” Clutching the marriage contract, Chu Xiu looked up at Shen Yu, her voice soft but unwavering. “I must stay—to avenge him.”

*****

The front hall of the Marquis of Li Xin’s residence.

The heads of every Yun family branch from Nanxi had gathered—seventeen or eighteen in all—each voicing their opinions on the succession, until the hall was filled with heated argument.

“The Marquis has been dead only seven days, and already you scramble for his title. Are you intent on rebellion?” The Dowager’s voice cut coldly through the clamor from the dais, silencing the hall.

“Mother, calm yourself! Our uncles and cousins argue only out of concern.” Yun Qi spoke first, putting on a show of propriety. Now that his elder brother Yun Ci was dead, he considered himself half a master of the house, entitled to speak. This would show both his hospitality and his ability to mediate—a demonstration for all branches of the clan.

The Dowager’s gaze swept across the assembled relatives, including the ingratiating Yun Qi and the silent Yun Xian, before she sighed. “I am weary and in pain. Enough for today—disperse. If there is anything to discuss, wait until the first seven days of mourning have passed.”

“Dowager! This cannot be delayed! If we wait until the northern branches arrive, their numbers will make any decision impossible!”

“Hereditary succession is best! Second Master Yun Qi and Third Master Yun Xian are both sons of the late Marquis, of pure blood and next in line. They are the natural choices.”

“Since ancient times, the eldest inherits—there is tradition to uphold!”

“There is no lack of able men in the Yun clan. When the Marquis was alive, though his health was frail, he was brilliant and unmatched. Now that he’s gone, if the family is to endure, the heir must be virtuous and capable!”

“The direct line cannot be broken! So what if the Marquis left no heir? Adopt a son from one of the other branches—just last year, the Qicheng branch, who manage the Nanxi rice trade so well, welcomed three healthy sons. Adopt one to carry on the Marquis’s line—why not?”

…

Amid the rising clamor, the Dowager slowly closed her eyes. In the end, everyone had their own agenda, each seeking their own advantage. She steadied herself, finally breaking the din with a shout: “I am not dead yet!”

At the word “dead,” the hall fell silent. A moment later, all present begged her forgiveness: “Dowager, forgive us.”

She looked at their posturing faces, sickened. “Some say succession by order, some say by merit, some say by adoption; all have their reasons. How could such matters be decided in a moment? The northern branches are still on their way. If the southern branches decide now, excluding the north, is that just?”

“It’s true the Marquis died without an heir, but this old woman intends to live many more years! To whom the Yun family’s future is entrusted must be carefully considered. You all—”

“Who says the Marquis left no heir!” The Dowager’s words were cut short by a clear, cold female voice from the doorway. All eyes turned to see a stunningly beautiful woman in white, her gaze bright and resolute, though touched with icy disdain.

She walked to the center of the hall, knelt before the Dowager, and said, “Your humble servant Chu Xiu greets the Dowager.”

The Dowager regarded her, then glanced at Shen Yu, who had followed in, a ripple of understanding passing through her eyes. She feigned sternness: “You’re a maid from the Study of Discerning Words. Why are you not attending your duties, barging in here?” With a single phrase, she revealed Chu Xiu’s identity.

Chu Xiu understood well what the Dowager meant but remained kneeling. “Forgive me, Dowager. I had no choice—for I am already two months with child.”

She paused, her eyes flickering swiftly over those present, then added, “It is the late Marquis’s child.”

At her words, the hall erupted—some in shock, some in disbelief, some in relief, and some already speaking out of turn. Chu Xiu, as if deaf to it all, looked steadfastly at the Dowager upon the dais, a subtle message glimmering in her eyes, one she knew the experienced matriarch would understand.

Indeed, the Dowager straightened, her expression unchanged. “Speak clearly,” she commanded.

Chu Xiu kowtowed, then continued, “A few days ago, I informed the Marquis of the child. When he learned both his wife and I were expecting, he was overjoyed and promised to give me my proper place. My parents are gone, and the Marquis arranged with the Lady’s family for the Xia family to adopt me as their daughter, so I might marry into the household. But…” Her voice broke with feigned grief, “But things changed so suddenly—both the Lady and the Marquis died in one night, and there was no time to report this to you. Still, the Xia family knows. If you doubt me, summon Master Xia; he will confirm it.”

As she spoke, Chu Xiu drew a thin sheet of paper from her sleeve, offering it over her head, her voice choked with tears. “The Lady drowned, and the Marquis, overcome by sorrow, passed soon after. Before he died, knowing this child was his only heir, he wrote this marriage contract with his own hand, making me his lawful wife. I beg you to read it, Dowager.”