Chapter Forty-Nine: The Xiao Family Manor

As dusk approached, the afterglow of the setting sun stained the sky crimson like blood. The Xiao family estate lay quiet and serene, with only the old matriarch sitting alone by the flowerbed, gazing blankly at the fiery clouds on the horizon.

The sunset was infinitely beautiful, but it heralded the coming of night. Old age brings sentimentality, and the sights before her stirred memories and feelings. The old matriarch was already one hundred and fourteen; living so long was not necessarily a blessing. Having seen through the ways of the world, she found little joy left. Her appearance was deeply aged—every crease on her face was etched by time, the last rays of sunlight revealing each wrinkle in stark detail. Her mouth, now toothless, was sunken and dry.

At a glance, she seemed like any ordinary old woman, but now and then, a fleeting expression would betray an extraordinary presence beneath the surface.

She shook her head with a sigh and picked up the watering can, tending with care to the flowers in the bed. These were not ordinary blooms, but cluster amaryllis—flowers said to be visible only to the dead, now at the peak of their eerie and mesmerizing beauty.

She cared for no other flowers but these, drawn to their legend and their somber allure.

Just then, someone emerged from behind the rockery: Xiao Fusheng. He approached and bowed, “Your son pays his respects, Mother.”

The old woman's heavy eyelids lifted briefly; she waved her hand, saying nothing.

“Guowei died at noon today in the villa,” Xiao Fusheng reported. “The killer is unknown—we are investigating.”

The old matriarch’s frail body gave a start. She looked up at her son, a rare sneer curling her lips. “Good that he's dead—peace at last. I just wonder when it will be this old woman’s turn, ha.”

Xiao Fusheng’s face grew tight; he knew what she meant. She was mocking his ineptitude—one by one, the descendants of the family had perished over the years. Even if he bore no direct responsibility, as the head of the house, he could not escape blame.

“Mother, you are in good health—you could easily live another fifty years,” he tried to comfort her.

“Another fifty years?” she snorted. “To watch my grandsons, great-grandsons, great-great-grandsons die one after another, until only I remain? Useless!”

Her anger flared; she hurled the watering can to the ground with a sharp crack.

Seeing her truly incensed, Xiao Fusheng quickly bowed his head in apology, thinking how unreasonable it was for her to blame him for such matters.

“But Guowei was always scheming,” she went on, her anger spent. “His death is no great loss.”

She no longer bothered to rebuke her son—it was pointless. She had long since lost hope in him.

Relieved at her change of mood, Xiao Fusheng exhaled deeply. Of all the family, only his mother inspired fear in him.

He forced a smile. “Mother, your one hundred and fifteenth birthday is at the end of next month. Do you have any plans?”

Perhaps for any elder, such a milestone would be a cause for joy, especially for the celebrated. But not for the old matriarch. The elderly may crave bustle and the sight of vigorous descendants, but for her, each birthday was an ordeal.

With every passing year, there were fewer seats filled at the feast. Now, only four great-granddaughters-in-law and one great-grandson remained—a picture of utter desolation. When had the Xiao family fallen to such ruin? Even during the Japanese invasion, the family stood stronger.

“Such birthdays are pointless,” she sighed, her gaze bleak. “Just summon the four great-granddaughters-in-law and that little rascal. No need for grand fanfare.”

Suddenly, she remembered something and asked, “And that rascal? Why hasn’t he come to see this old woman lately?”

Xiao Fusheng knew the ‘rascal’ she meant was Xiao Cheng. Hearing her ask, his expression darkened. Lately, he'd planned to discipline Xiao Cheng, who had grown increasingly insolent, daring to strike his fourth uncle and even sully his sister-in-law—a disgrace that could not be forgiven.

Now that his mother inquired about Xiao Cheng, it was a perfect chance to inform her of his misdeeds. If he wanted to punish Xiao Cheng, he had to consider her feelings, for she doted on that scoundrel. He needed her to feel some disgust toward Xiao Cheng before taking action.

“What’s wrong? Has that rascal caused trouble again?” the old matriarch asked, seeing through his intentions.

“Yes,” Xiao Fusheng replied. “Last month, he defied his elders and struck Guowei. I haven’t even dealt with him yet.”

“Oh? Is that so? Tell me more!” The old woman’s interest was piqued; Xiao Cheng was perhaps the only junior she cared for.

“Last month, just after his confinement ended, he went to the company and assaulted Guowei. I don’t know the exact reason, but I’m sure Guowei let him get away with it—otherwise, he couldn’t have hurt Guowei.”

As he spoke, Xiao Fusheng watched his mother’s face, but saw not the slightest anger—only curiosity. Undeterred, he prepared to bring up the matter of adultery, which he was certain would displease her.

“That’s all?” the old matriarch frowned, unsatisfied. She sighed inwardly at her son’s lack of storytelling talent. “If the rascal struck someone, it must be Guowei’s fault; why else would he do it?”

How could striking someone still be the other’s fault? Xiao Fusheng was baffled by her logic. Her indulgence toward that scoundrel defied all reason.

“Later, to prevent further trouble, I had Wang Qiyi keep an eye on him. But somehow, Xiao Cheng discovered Wang Qiyi and approached him quietly—within five meters—without Wang Qiyi noticing. And Wang Qiyi is a third-rank master! How did Xiao Cheng manage that?”

He observed her reaction, but was disappointed. She showed no unusual emotion.

“And then?” the old matriarch asked, smiling. She was genuinely curious—had the rascal really become so skilled?

“Then he told Wang Qiyi to pass me a message: stop bothering him. Imagine, speaking to me that way—I am his grandfather!”

The old woman had expected that, given his nature, Xiao Cheng would stir up more trouble, and was disappointed the story ended there. She knew perfectly well that Xiao Fusheng was hinting at Xiao Cheng’s lack of respect, but she didn’t care.

“That’s your mistake,” she said with a smile. “As head of the family, your focus should be broader. Why keep such a close watch on your grandson? Who likes being watched? Especially a rascal like him!”

Xiao Fusheng was at a loss. Unable to glean from her manner whether she had given Xiao Cheng the ancestral jade pendant, he asked directly, “Mother, did you give him the ancestral jade? Otherwise, how could he approach Wang Qiyi unnoticed?”

She glared at him, guessing his suspicion. She hadn’t given Xiao Cheng anything, but snapped, “Must I report to you whenever I give something away?”

“No, no, I just worry he might lose it.”

He apologized hastily, inwardly confirming his suspicions. His mother truly favored that scoundrel above himself—and for what reason? Her partiality was incomprehensible.

“Hmph, would the rascal lose an embroidery needle?” she replied, displeased but playing along with his assumption, helping Xiao Cheng cover his tracks. Yet she too wondered how that rascal had managed such a feat.

Xiao Fusheng steeled himself. “He’s done something even more disgraceful.”

Seeing him hesitate, the old matriarch lifted her eyelids. “Out with it—no need for all this scheming.”

He had meant to build up to it, but she gave him no chance. Gravely, he declared, “He’s brought shame to our family—he had an affair with Yu Jia!”

At these words, the old matriarch’s expression changed and she fell silent. After a long pause, she sighed, waving her hand. “Enough. I’ve heard. You may go.”

Seeing her reaction, Xiao Fusheng believed he’d achieved his aim. Even if she didn’t send him away, he didn’t wish to linger—her anger might spill over onto him.

He withdrew from the rear courtyard.

Watching his retreating figure, the old matriarch shook her head, utterly disappointed in her son—his vision was too narrow, concerned only with the family’s meager affairs. Her thoughts drifted to Xiao Cheng and Yu Jia’s affair, and unexpectedly, she chuckled.

An affair? What of it? It was hardly a scandal. Yu Jia was a charming young widow; perhaps she’d remarry someday.

“Didn’t an old fellow once say, ‘Don’t let the fattened water flow into others’ fields’? That’s exactly the way of things.”