Chapter 147 — Karmic Debt

Song Cen looked over his travel-stained son. "You haven't eaten yet, have you? I'll have the kitchen prepare something. Wash and change as well—your mother loved beauty above all; if she saw you like this, she would be heartbroken!"

Song Yan could not hold back his tears. He bowed his head and answered, "Yes."

Lü Zheng came to wait on him while he bathed. Afterwards a maid came to announce that the meal had been laid out in the inner chamber of the main house, just as the Duke of Britain had ordered.

"The Duke of Britain surely means to have a word with you!" Lü Zheng said, downcast. "His heart has been heavy these past days!"

Song Yan was all the more grieved to hear it.

On the kang table by the window in the inner chamber were several vegetarian dishes, a great plate of steamed buns, and a large bowl of plain noodles.

"Eat up!" Song Cen sat beside his son, watching him eat quickly, yet still with a certain elegance and composure.

"In the blink of an eye, you've grown up." He sighed, a flicker of melancholy in his eyes. "And I have grown old!"

Song Yan said nothing.

He was not much good at comforting people. He could not help thinking: if only Tian'en were here. Tian'en was the best at cheering people up. From childhood, whenever Tian'en was present, the conversation never flagged.

He ate quietly.

Song Cen sat quietly, watching his son eat.

The room was so still that only the soft clink of porcelain could be heard, and it made the silence seem all the deeper.

When Song Yan had finished, the maids brought water for him to wash his hands and set before him the tea he usually drank, then withdrew without a sound.

Song Cen gazed at Song Yan. His expression was somewhat complicated, and still he did not speak.

Song Yan waited patiently, quiet and composed.

A strange light flashed in Song Cen's eyes.

He said in a low voice, "Do you remember Meirui, the senior maid who served your mother?"

"I remember." Song Ke understood why his father had suddenly brought up his mother's senior maid, but he answered him frankly all the same. "She was the most capable of the maids about my mother."

"After your mother passed, I meant to wait until the forty-nine days of mourning were over, and then release all those who had served her," Song Cen said, taking up his teacup, his lids lowered a little, his gaze falling on the green tea leaves floating in the cup like little boats. "But on the night of the second seventh, Meirui suddenly dashed her head against a pillar before your mother's spirit tablet and killed herself."

Song Yan's expression shifted.

"Thankfully it was evening. There were few people about, and Lü Zheng handled it properly, so the matter was not spread abroad." Song Cen said, "I had everyone who served in your mother's rooms confined," and here he abruptly raised his eyelids, his gaze sharp as a sword as he looked at Song Yan. "Guess what Lü Zheng found?" Before Song Yan could answer, Song Cen, his face gone ashen, went on, "That maid was four months pregnant—already showing!"

"How could that be?" Song Yan blurted out, unable to hide his shock.

The child was plainly not his father's. Otherwise, given his mother's temper, she would surely have made some arrangement before she died, and his father need not have spoken of it to him at all—still less with such fury.

His mother had been strict in governing those beneath her, but—perhaps under the influence of the Jiang family—she was not a hidebound or mean-spirited woman. If Meirui had set her heart on someone, with how fond his mother was of her, she could simply have told her; there was no need to do such a shameful thing.

Whose child was it, then?

If this got out, his mother's good name would surely be called into question.

A cold light flashed in his eyes—and then his father's voice reached his ears: "Lü Zheng searched her room. In it he found several bolts of the new tribute silks from the Jiangnan weaving bureau this year, and a few pieces of finely wrought ornaments. Among them was a jade pendant, exquisitely carved from the finest Hetian jade, with cloud patterns on all four sides and, at its center, a great roc with wings spread..."

Song Yan was stunned.

When he was born, his grandfather had given him just such a jade pendant!

It was said to have been handed down from the Song family's Xuanming Sect.

Song Cen had already flown into a rage. "You wicked creature! A fine thing you've done!" And he swung a slap at Song Yan!

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Sisters, brothers—this is the make-up update for March 31st.

Writing this passage has drained me utterly; I have become a character in the story, caught up in its great joys and great sorrows.

Let me rest a while, and then I will write today's update.

I will set a time for now!

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