Chapter 27.1

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Fan Changyu visited the market at dawn, returning with an old hen to make broth for Yan Zheng.

In the alleyway, she greeted familiar neighbors warmly as always. But today, they avoided her gaze, muttering half-hearted replies.

A woman from the Song family’s circle glared openly, recoiling as if fleeing a flood or wild beasts. “That cursed star! Her uncle visited a few times, and she killed him. Now her live-in husband’s sickly too. Thank the heavens Sister Song checked their birth charts—if Yan’er had married her, the Songs would’ve been doomed!”

Others who’d once been friendly with the Fans subtly edged away.

The “Lone Star of Calamity” label had been dismissed as Song family gossip—until now. With the recent attacks and last night’s bloodshed, even neighbors who’d known Changyu since childhood grew wary. If the soldiers hadn’t arrived in time, even Aunt and Uncle Zhao might’ve been casualties.

Normally, Changyu would’ve snapped back. But the truth stung: the Zhaos had nearly died because of her. Yan Zheng was injured.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, gripping the hen tightly as she made her way toward the Zhao residence.

As she passed Granny Kang’s doorstep—the very woman who had sneered at her moments ago—cold droplets splattered onto her embroidered shoes and skirt hem. The old crone had flung another basin of rice water onto the street, just as she walked by.

Changyu stopped. Slowly, she turned her head, her gaze steady and unreadable.

Granny Kang had been a longtime neighbor of the Songs, latching onto them the moment Song Yan passed the imperial exam. She spent her days gossiping with Madam Song, her stories always filled with Changyu’s supposed failings. When the Songs moved to the county town, she was the only one from the alley invited to their new home. For weeks afterward, she paraded that privilege, boasting about the estate’s splendor, Song Yan’s achievements, and—of course—Changyu’s misfortune.

Now, under Changyu’s silent scrutiny, Granny Kang emptied the rest of the rice water with a sharp flick of her wrist. “What rotten luck first thing in the morning! I’ll have to burn pomelo leaves to cleanse the doorstep!”

Superstition held that rice water and pomelo leaves could ward off misfortune.

She parted her lips slightly, as if to speak, but seeing the silent avoidance from her neighbors—some merely quiet, others deliberately distancing themselves—she pressed them tightly shut instead. Clutching her things, she quickened her pace toward the Zhao residence.

The rice water had soaked through her shoes and socks, the icy dampness clinging to her ankles, seeping through skin and bone, leaving a cold weight in her chest.

When she stepped into the Zhao family’s courtyard, Aunt Zhao was outside sweeping snow. Seeing her damp skirt and sodden shoes, she frowned. “What happened here?”

Changyu strode straight toward the kitchen. “The snow on the road hasn’t fully melted. Stepped into some and got wet.”

Aunt Zhao narrowed her eyes at Changyu’s retreating figure, unconvinced.

Her mind in turmoil, Changyu busied herself. She slaughtered the hen, set it to simmer in a clay pot, and—fearing Aunt Zhao might press further—used the excuse of delivering medicine to Yan Zheng to slip away to the attic.

“Drink your medicine.”

Her voice lacked its usual spirit, carrying a dull, muted tone instead.

Xie Zheng accepted the bowl, his gaze lingering on her face.

There were no obvious signs of distress, yet he could tell something was off. “What happened?”

She only shook her head. “Nothing. Drink it while it’s hot. If it’s too bitter, there’s tangerine peel candy by your pillow.”

Hugging her knees, she perched on a low stool near the charcoal brazier, warming herself in silence. Her head remained bowed, exposing the delicate curve of her neck, making it impossible to see her expression.

Xie Zheng glanced at her skirt and shoes—still faintly damp. “The snow came down pretty hard in the second half of the night.”

Fan Changyu gave a vague hum in response.

Xie Zheng frowned slightly. It hadn’t snowed at all last night, yet she claimed it had. Something about her was off today.

She remained quiet, and after finishing his medicine, Xie Zheng set the bowl on the round stool beside the bed without a word.

The room sat in heavy silence for a long while before Fan Changyu suddenly spoke. “I’ll find you an inn, pay extra to the innkeeper, and have them look after your meals and daily needs. How about that?”

Xie Zheng’s fingers pressed slightly harder against the bed’s edge. “Why?”

Fan Changyu replied, “The case isn’t closed yet. I’m worried those people will come back for revenge.”

Xie Zheng said, “Didn’t you say there were soldiers stationed nearby for protection?”

She hesitated for a few beats before lifting her head to meet his gaze. “Then stay here and recover. But once you’re healed, you need to leave.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the attic.

Xie Zheng picked up a piece of tangerine peel candy, his lips pressing into a thin line. In the next instant, the candy crumbled into dust between his fingertips.

By noon, the source of her unusual behavior finally became clear.

Granny Kang, who lived in the alley, stormed toward the Zhao residence, cursing loudly as she went. “Fan Changyu! Get out here!”

Her voice was sharp, her ability to scold unmatched. The moment she shouted, a crowd gathered outside Zhao’s house, eager to watch the drama unfold.

The pounding on the door was heavy, almost like someone was kicking it down. Aunt Zhao hurried over and opened it, only to find Granny Kang standing there with her grandson, both seething.

“What’s going on?” Aunt Zhao asked.

Granny Kang shoved her grandson forward, hands on her hips. “Call Fan Changyu out! Her sister pushed my Hu Tou down the steps—knocked out his front tooth! What’s she going to do about it?”

Changyu stepped out from the kitchen, stew forgotten. The boy—Hu Tou—sobbed, snot trailing from his nose, sniffling uselessly as it dripped anew. His chin was swollen, a front tooth clearly missing.

“My sister’s frail,” Changyu said coolly. “Your grandson is bigger and older. How could she push him?”

Granny Kang spat. “You think I’d make this up? Call Ningniang out. Let’s hear her deny it.”

Aunt Zhao glanced at the gathering crowd. “Settle this inside. Kids scuffle all the time—no need to put on a show.”

“Show?” Granny Kang snapped. “I’m here for justice! Let everyone see what kind of wretched girl you’re raising!”

Fan Changyu knew Granny Kang’s reputation well—loud, sharp-tongued, and impossible to reason with. She had driven her own daughter-in-law away, working the woman like a beast of burden until she finally fled. Even now, Granny Kang spat insults at her, calling her a shameless wench who ran off with another man, never once considering that treating a daughter-in-law like livestock might have been the problem.

Later, her son took a liking to a widow, but Granny Kang made a scene, calling her unlucky—her last husband had died, so who knew if she’d bring misfortune again? Sensing trouble, the widow broke things off, and to this day, Granny Kang’s son remained a lonely old bachelor.

Changyu had no intention of wasting words on her. Her voice was cold. “Justice isn’t yours to demand. I’ll ask my sister first.”

She called out, “Ningniang, come here.”

Little Changning hesitated before shuffling out of the house, sticking close behind her sister like a shadow.

Changyu lowered her head. “Did you push Hu Tou?”

Changning bit her lip, fingers twisting the hem of her clothes. She nodded, then shook her head.

Granny Kang let out a shrill laugh. “See that? Lying at her age! The Fan family sure raised her well! First, she nods, now she shakes her—”

“Shut your mouth!” Changyu snapped.