Chapter Thirteen: Turning Truth Upside Down

The Xue residence lay at the outermost edge of Wuyi Lane, south of the Huai River—a district reserved for the grandest families: the Wangs, the Xies, the Zhous, the Zhangs, and so forth. Of course, the Xues themselves were hardly remarkable, their properties spanning only half a street.

The westernmost courtyard belonged to Xue Qiu. It had once been a garden, but Xue Qiu, seeking solitude, had partitioned it off for himself. As the eldest sister-in-law and matriarch of the main branch, the old madam naturally resided in the central axis of the estate.

Yet the place where the old madam summoned Xue Fanzhi and Xue Jingren was neither of these, but rather the guest hall at the back of the main house. By the time Xue Fanzhi and Xue Jingren arrived, the hall was already brimming with people.

Xue Fanzhi cast her gaze around; the faces were both familiar and faintly estranged—family, yet distant. The old madam herself was there, of course. The main branch’s two concubine-born households, the third branch’s old lady with her two sons, the fourth branch with its two bachelor brothers, and one uncle from the fifth branch—nearly thirty souls in all. Some had come to seek refuge with Xue Qiu years ago; others, like herself, had just arrived in recent days. This gathering was likely a welcome feast of sorts for the newcomers.

Despite the crowded room, Xue Fanzhi’s attention fixed on her mother and Xue Jiaoyue.

Xue Jingren’s eyes widened in surprise as he pointed to Xue Jiaoyue. "Why is she still here? Didn’t I send her back home?"

Xue Qiu was conspicuously absent; the old madam presided for now. She wore a claret shawl, her brow adorned with a jade and yellow topaz band. Seated upright on a low divan at the head of the hall, she spoke in a chilly tone. "It was your father who sent for Seventh Lady’s return. Thankfully he did, or we would never have known the sort of deeds you, Young Master Xue, have committed outside—harming your own sister!"

Xue Jingren was dumbstruck, his face written with incredulity. How could she accuse him of this?

Xue Fanzhi glanced between the smug Xue Jiaoyue and her mother’s evasive eyes, and a realization dawned on her.

The old madam was not, in fact, their blood grandmother. Their real grandmother had been a concubine left behind in the ancestral home. This old madam, childless herself, had consented to the family matriarch’s arrangement to bring in a concubine for the sake of the Xue lineage. Once a son was born, the concubine was sent away. The old patriarch, however, having tasted new affection, soon took two more concubines, and relations between him and his wife became a mere formality.

Because of this, whether toward Xue Yang—the adopted legitimate son—or the other two illegitimate sons, the old madam’s manner was always cool and impartial. She never favored anyone, but neither did she oppress them; she was fair in her dealings.

So for her to turn the tables in this way, Xue Fanzhi knew Xue Jiaoyue must have spoken first. It was laughable that her own mother had allowed this, not only failing to stop it, but even summoning the old madam to interrogate them.

"Grandmother," Xue Fanzhi said respectfully, "it’s not my brother’s fault. He sent Xue Jiaoyue home because he didn’t want me to suffer injustice."

The old madam’s voice was cold as ever. "So it is true, then?"

Xue Jingren, his face flushed, stammered, "Grandmother, it was Xue Jiaoyue who first harmed our Little Eight!"

Xue Fanzhi nodded. "So perhaps Grandmother will allow us to explain in detail?"

"What is there to explain?!"

Just as the old madam seemed about to nod, a tall, elegant man strode in from outside. His face was slender, with almond-shaped eyes, and though he was well past forty, his fair skin and straight posture could have passed him for twenty. In these days, when Daoist discourse and the cult of jade-like purity prevailed, his orchid-like grace seemed the very embodiment of all the era’s ideals. He was Xue Yang—the famed head of the Xue clan, their father.

Xue Fanzhi turned to look at her father. In her previous life, it had been five years since she had last seen him. His appearance remained unchanged, and his gaze toward her was still cold.

Her father was a knot in her heart. Not to mention his habitual favoritism toward Xue Jiaoyue and aversion to herself—in a past life, he had been executed with the entire family after aiding Xue Jiaoyue and Xiao Jian’s rebellion, exposed by Xiao Yi.

Their relationship had never been close; perhaps it was only her father who felt so. She had always hoped he might care for her, just a little.

When her brothers and mother had died, he was her only kin. Upon learning Xiao Yi’s verdict, she had, despite her frail health, knelt in the pouring rain for an hour to plead for mercy. Xiao Yi had angrily rebuked her: "Would you be content if I gave my throne to your father? Such a father-in-law—his daughter in my palace, yet he dares rebel. Do you not fear I’ll kill you too? Why do you still beg for him?"

She had clung to her belief in her father’s love, weeping uncontrollably. Later, Xiao Yi had knocked her unconscious and carried her back to her chambers...

When she woke again, her father was already dead. Palace servants told her he had cursed her on the execution ground—calling her unfilial for not interceding, and wishing her an ill fate.

In the end, he got his wish: she was granted death by Xiao Yi’s own hand.

Why had the one she so respected hated her so bitterly in the end?

Xue Fanzhi could not understand her father. Her heart ached; she yearned for an answer. At that moment, her brother saluted their father.

As he passed the two of them, their father flicked his sleeve and said, "Enough. If you can refrain from mutual destruction, that is all I can hope for. I can’t bear your formalities."

Her brother’s face darkened, and he said nothing more. Xue Fanzhi was even more silent.

Xue Yang stepped before the old madam and said, "Mother, what Jingren and Little Eight have done is truly shameful. But now that we have just arrived in Jiankang, we must not let family scandals leak out. For their youth’s sake, let Jingren be confined for half a month. As for Little Eight..."

He turned to glance at Xue Fanzhi, his eyes like ice. "To harm your elder sister, to show no familial affection, and to incite Jingren—such wickedness must be punished. Thirty strokes of the family rod, or she will never learn!"

The family rod was the same as that used by the constables of the Supreme Court—one blow did not break the skin, but left blood pooling deep in the flesh. Thirty strokes would be unbearable for any man; if not fatal, it would cripple the lower body.

Xue Fanzhi’s head jerked up, disbelief in her eyes. Did her father truly mean to beat her to death?

Lady Jin seemed about to intercede, but for some reason fell silent.

At last, the old madam frowned. "To use the family rod on a girl—isn’t that too severe a punishment?"

"Then twenty strokes, not a single one less. Otherwise, she will never learn her lesson!" Xue Yang said, turning again to Xue Fanzhi. "Why are you not kneeling to thank your elders? If your grandmother had not spoken for you, with your wolfish heart I would have beaten you to death myself!"

"Father!" Xue Jingren shouted in agitation. "It’s not Little Eight’s fault! How can you decide to beat her without even asking questions, and act as if it’s some kind of favor?!"