At the second quarter of the Mao hour (around 5:30 a.m.), red lanterns still hung inside and outside the Shen Mansion, yet not a trace of festive cheer remained.A servant held the "engagement dissolution letter" high above his head, like a white blade piercing straight into the Shen family's heart.
Shen Xiuqi—once the Minister of War, whose career had been shattered three years ago on charges of "colluding with enemies"—held the document with both hands, his knuckles white with tension.
Madam Luo glanced at the letter, her face instantly draining of color. A short, choked sob escaped her throat, and she collapsed backward.
Maidens and elderly servants swarmed around her—some pinching her philtrum to revive her, others rushing to fetch warm soup.
More than a dozen members of the second and third branches of the Shen family crowded the threshold of the main hall, wailing, cursing, and stamping their feet, plunging the place into chaos.
"That cursed Xiao Jingyuan! He's trying to drive us to our deaths!"
"The Shen family has just begun to stand tall again, and now we're going to be trampled into the mud!"
Shen Xiuqi suddenly raised his hand and slammed it down on the side table, splitting the wood. "Be quiet!"
Splinters of red sandalwood flew everywhere, and the crowd fell deathly silent, as still as cicadas in winter.
He turned to his daughter, bloodshot eyes filled with agony: "Wan'er, what… what do you think we should do?"
Shen Weiwan stood in the middle of the hall, still wearing her wedding dress—though the golden phoenixes embroidered on it had lost their luster.
She lifted her eyes, her gaze cold and sharp like two thin blades, sweeping slowly over every panicked face.
"Father, Mother, uncles, aunts," she said.
Her voice was not loud, yet it carried the frosty chill of early morning.
"One engagement dissolution letter won't bring the Shen family crashing down. What could collapse is only the resolve of the Shen family."
She knelt down, picked up the letter that had split into two, and ran her fingertips over the ink characters before gently blowing on the paper.
Bits of paper fluttered down like snow, landing at everyone's feet.
The black-lacquered door of the ancestral hall creaked open wide.
Eternal lanterns cast light on rows of memorial tablets—and on the shadows of three generations of the Shen family.
Shen Weiwan, dressed in plain white clothes with her hair tied back simply, walked barefoot on the green bricks. She knelt and kowtowed every three steps, entering the hall after nine prostrations.
Atan followed closely behind, carrying a bronze basin; the clear water inside, illuminated by candlelight, looked like blood.
"Ancestors above," Shen Weiwan said, "this unfilial daughter, Shen Weiwan, washes away shame with blood today."
A dagger was drawn, flashing coldly.
She sliced open her palm. Crimson beads of blood fell into the bronze basin, and the clear water instantly bloomed with red lotus-like ripples.
She clenched her fist, letting streams of blood drip into the incense burner.
The flame flared up suddenly, lighting up her pale face.
"First vow: The Shen family's reputation shall remain untainted by dust.
Second vow: Those who betrayed me shall reap what they have sown.
Third vow: My life, my destiny—shall be ruled by me alone."
After making the three vows, she bowed deeply, pressing her forehead to the ground with a loud thud—as if striking the hearts of everyone present.
Shen Xiuqi stood outside the threshold, tears streaming down his face, yet he held his back straight.
Madam Luo, supported by two elderly maids, was led into the hall. When she saw this scene, her sobs died in her throat, leaving only silent grief.
As the Zhong hour (around 11 p.m.) approached, the faint sound of the mansion's watch drums echoed.
In the small study of the side courtyard, a dim oil lamp burned; two silhouettes were cast on the window paper.
Shen Weiwan wore a gray fox fur cloak. The bandage on her left hand oozed blood, while her right hand held a brush, marking down names one by one on rice paper.
"Minister Liu, Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue, Censor-in-Chief…"
Every time she read a name, she wrote a number next to it—the amount of silver those officials had secretly accepted from Xiao Jingyuan.
Atan lowered her voice: "Miss, we only have copies of these account records. If we present them to His Majesty…"
"It's not enough," Shen Weiwan set down her brush and looked up, a dark flame burning in her eyes. "We need the Censorate to speak up and accuse them themselves."
She pulled out a third sheet of paper, writing in cold, stern ink:
"At the Chen hour (around 7-9 a.m.) tomorrow, send a visit invitation to Prince Jing'an's residence."
Atan gasped.
Prince Jing'an, Xiao Jue—biological brother of the Emperor, commander of the Northern Inspection Department, and known throughout the court as the "Cold-Faced Yama" (a fearsome judge of the underworld).
Shen Weiwan smiled, though her smile was as sharp as the back of a knife scraping over ice.
"The enemy of my enemy is my ally."
As dawn broke faintly, chaos erupted again in the side hall of the Shen Mansion.
Shen Weiwan's second aunt, accompanied by several clan elders, blocked the courtyard, clutching account books and shouting about dividing the family property.
"The main branch is now a plague! Don't let them drag our second and third branches down with them!"
"Wan'er, you're just a girl—why are you acting so recklessly? If you drag the Shen family into ruin again, can you bear the responsibility?"
Shen Weiwan lifted the curtain and stepped out. Her plain clothes were thin, yet her presence made everyone step back involuntarily.
Her gaze swept over the account books as she spoke calmly: "Second Aunt is in such a hurry to split the family—are you afraid that the old accounts of embezzling military funds will be uncovered?"
The second aunt's face paled instantly.
Shen Weiwan raised her hand, and Atan brought forward a lacquered box. When the lid was opened, it revealed a thick stack of receipts.
"Three years ago, when Grandfather's sacrificial fields were pawned off—where did the money, handled by you, go?"
The second aunt's lips trembled, and she fell to her knees with a thud.
The other clan elders exchanged glances, and no one dared to mention dividing the family again.
Shen Weiwan turned to leave, her voice cold as frost: "The Shen family hasn't fallen yet. Whoever dares to stir trouble first will be the first to face my wrath."
In the afternoon, rumors spread like wildfire through the city.
"The eldest daughter of the Shen family was so shamed by the engagement dissolution that she hanged herself."
"I heard Master Shen is going to send his daughter to a Taoist nunnery to spend the rest of her life."
When the rumors reached the Shen Mansion, the servants grew anxious and restless.
Shen Weiwan ordered a basket of copper coins to be brought out, distributing them to the beggars at the street corner in exchange for them spreading a different story—
"The Shen daughter has aspirations higher than the heavens; she tore the engagement letter in public, and the faithless groom knelt in the street!"
Within half a day, public opinion had reversed.
In teahouses and marketplaces, storytellers slapped their gavel and spoke with great enthusiasm:
"That Miss Shen—still wearing her phoenix crown and embroidered robe—stood at the mansion gate and declared in a firm voice—
'How dare anyone trample on the honor of the Shen family!'"
The audience slammed their tables and cheered.
By evening, the tide of public opinion had reached the imperial palace.
The lights in the imperial study burned all night.
As night deepened and dew grew heavy, an ebony carriage stopped at the side gate of the Shen Mansion.
The carriage curtain lifted slightly, and a black iron token—glinting coldly—was handed out.
Atan carried it into the study. Shen Weiwan ran her fingertips over the two characters "Jing'an" (Prince Jing'an's title) engraved on the token, and the corner of her lips curled into a faint smile.
"The fish has taken the bait."
Outside the window, dark clouds covered the moon, and the wind whipped at broken branches.
No one saw the third pair of eyes in the shadows, watching everything coldly.