Liang Yun

Behind her stood a woman of gentle bearing, dressed in garments of utmost simplicity. To an outsider’s eye, she would seem a dignified, kindly matron from a noble house, but the sight of her made Ying Shi’s fingers tremble involuntarily.

This lady was none other than Liang Ji’s mother, the mistress of the household and the wife of the late Duke—Lady Wei.

Her maiden family bore the surname Wei, and most outsiders respectfully called her Lady Wei.

Ying Shi knew Lady Wei all too well. For years, she had treated Liang Ji’s mother as her own, doting on her daily, never missing a single morning or evening greeting, always attentive and deferential.

In those bygone years, Ying Shi had humbled herself, suppressing every trace of her own nature, molding herself into the perfect daughter-in-law—one whom Lady Wei praised and cherished as if she were her own flesh and blood.

After Liang Ji’s death, their relationship had become so close, so mother-daughter-like, that even the capital’s gossips spoke of it as a touching tale.

But then, Liang Ji returned—

In those days, all of Ying Shi’s faith collapsed. She had long since ceased to desire anything, placing her sole hope in Lady Wei.

She prayed Lady Wei would, for the sake of their years together, help her just this once, permitting her to part ways with Liang Ji, no longer making things hard for her.

But Lady Wei? The very woman who once could not love her enough, who had treated her as her own daughter, turned away in an instant—utterly and without mercy.

The stately, commanding matron, waving her fan with careless ease, had counseled Ying Shi, “What man in this world does not have wives and concubines? Your husband—my son—has returned; that is a gift from Heaven. You are the legitimate wife, married in all due form. Why stoop to jealousy like a common shrew?”

“You should hasten to win Ji’er’s heart again, and bear a legitimate son for the Liang family—that is your true duty.”

Lady Wei had said that as long as she lived, the concubine Fu would never rise to the rank of official wife.

Yet later, not wishing her only grandson to lack legitimacy, she tried every means to persuade Ying Shi to have the boy registered under her own name.

Ying Shi refused, of course, but before she could voice her objection, Fu stormed in, accused her of plotting to steal another woman’s child, and called her venomous.

The story soon spread, further marring Ying Shi’s already precarious reputation.

Later, seeing her only grandson’s status diminished, Lady Wei secretly sought to elevate Fu, intending to grant her the rank of secondary wife.

Then, she turned back to Ying Shi, pouring out her own grievances, claiming she had no choice—Ying Shi and Liang Ji’s discord had delayed the birth of an heir, Liang Ji was about to leave for the front again, and she was left with no alternative.

“Ah Ruan?” Lady Wei, seeing Ying Shi lost in a daze, staring at her as if possessed, furrowed her brows but did not suspect her.

She spoke to Ying Shi with genuine warmth, gently reminding her, “Yesterday, at Ji’er’s funeral, you were still yourself. Why are you so distracted today? Just now, your distant aunt came to call—a woman of high rank, whose sons have all made their mark. You left her standing alone; she’s sure to take it to heart. If she complains to the old madam, both you and I will be blamed for our lack of courtesy…”

Lady Wei’s voice droned on, but Ying Shi heard only four words—Shungong’s funeral rites.

No, this was supposed to be her own funeral.

How was she alive? And why was it Liang Ji who had died?

A rush of questions battered her mind, making her head throb violently.

Overwhelmed by terror and confusion, she could only think she had somehow fallen into the underworld, surrounded by ghosts in human guise, come to torment her.

She pinched her arm hard beneath her sleeve.

The pain was real, not a dream.

She scanned the mourning hall; everything seemed all too real… but she could not believe it.

Numb, she asked around, “Where’s the coffin? Where’s it been placed?”

Her strange question drew puzzled looks, but someone timidly pointed to a side pavilion, “Third Master’s coffin is in the incense hall, of course…”

Lady Wei frowned, hastening to catch up and seize Ying Shi’s sleeve, her tone now stern, “Are you unwell from all the strain this morning? Why are you talking nonsense?”

But Ying Shi could not listen. The moment she heard the coffin was in the incense hall, she rushed toward it without a second thought.

Her outburst irritated Lady Wei, who could not understand how her once well-mannered daughter-in-law could suddenly behave as though struck mad.

This was her son’s funeral; the incense hall was sacred to the ancestors, forbidden to women. Only men could enter. How could she allow such disrespect?

She snapped at the maids, “Why are you just standing there? Stop the young madam at once. She’ll disgrace us all with her commotion.”

The moment the matron spoke, all the older servants sprang into action, grabbing at Ying Shi.

“Young madam, you must be confused! You can’t cause a scene here!”

The Liang clan was a noble house, its rules as heavy as iron.

The incense hall was for ancestral rites; no woman dared set foot inside. If they failed to restrain her and allowed her to offend the ancestors, Lady Wei would never forgive them.

This young body was nothing like the feeble one she remembered; Ying Shi, annoyed and impatient with the restraints, shook herself free at last and, seeing the matrons close in again, pushed the foremost one back with force.

The startled matron staggered, bumping into the maids behind her, who all toppled backward in a heap.

This collapse landed squarely on Lady Wei, nearly knocking her to the ground.

“My back!” she cried, setting off a chorus of laments outside the mourning hall.

Whereas most had not noticed before, now the wails drew all eyes.

Ying Shi ignored them. Her face pale as death, she gathered her skirts and climbed the threshold, entering the incense hall—a place no woman had set foot in since its construction.

All about her, incense burned in thick, curling streams, the candlelight flickering dimly.

The ancestral tablets of the Liang clan stood in solemn ranks, each one lacquered black, arranged by seniority.

Before the heaven and earth tablet stood a censer, and beneath it a gold-inlaid altar. In the center of the hall, the coffin lay in state, a newly inscribed spirit tablet placed atop it.

Drawing near, she saw clearly: the name on the spirit tablet was Liang Ji.

Lord Liang, given name Shungong, aged twenty.

Shungong—Liang Ji’s courtesy name.

Aged twenty? Twenty?!

The austere, frigid scene banished her near-madness, leaving her suddenly calm.

Only then did she realize: this all seemed real.

Liang Ji had indeed died at twenty.

Or rather—this was the year it had happened…

Was she… brought back to life?

Chills tingled across her scalp, shudders running down her spine, so fierce she nearly collapsed before Liang Ji’s coffin.

After her own death, she had returned to the anniversary of Liang Ji’s passing?

Heaven had granted her a second chance, but why now of all times?

Was she to continue as Liang Ji’s young widow, awaiting his return and her own disgrace?

If only she had come back a few days earlier, all would have been well.

A few days… She would have braved the world’s scorn, been called faithless, anything to flee the Liang household, to sever all ties with the family forever.

But now? She had only just been married to the dead—the capital sang her praises for her loyalty—how could she now stir up a scandal by refusing to play her part?

Would the world not mock her for treating marriage as a game?

If she so much as breathed a word, the Liang clan would never permit it, and her own family would hardly tolerate such willfulness…

Where could she go? Where on earth could she go?

Tormented by too many thoughts, Ying Shi was swept by bitter joy, by grief and rage too fierce to suppress.

“The young madam insists on breaking the rules, barging in here—what is she doing?”

“Who knows? I heard there was a scene outside! Demanding the coffin be opened, saying she must see Third Master!”

“It’s utter madness!”

“What sort of upbringing did she have? Such lack of propriety! Raving and unruly—what a disgrace!”

The voices of censure rang in her ears, cutting short her mounting hysteria.

She slowly looked up to find the hall full of men, each eyeing her with disapproval. Only then did she realize the danger.

If anyone discerned the truth—that she had returned from the dead—they might well think her possessed, seize her as a demon, and burn her alive…

What now? What now?

She steadied herself against the coffin, trembling, fumbled for candles, striving for composure, and lit incense from the censer.

All the while, her mind raced for an excuse for her earlier madness—she would claim it was grief, a desperate wish to see Liang Ji’s face one last time…

Yes, yes!

Lost in her thoughts, she found herself by the censer before she knew it. Suddenly, she saw beside her a tall figure.

By now, dusk had crept in, golden light spilling over the dark robe at his side.

His features were finely carved, high-nosed and thin-lipped, his black hair smooth as silk. Wearing a dark straight robe, he stood amidst curling incense smoke, his eyes lowered, expression cold and severe.

Ying Shi was momentarily dazed before realizing who it was.

“To meet the scion of the Liang clan from Hedong is to encounter a jade mountain—such is his radiance.”

The man acclaimed as the paragon of his generation—the very embodiment of grace—was none other than the one before her: Liang Yun, Liang Ji’s elder brother, and the master of the household.

Liang Ji and Liang Yun were true brothers, sharing the same stature and similar features, their faces marked by the same strong bone structure.

But their temperaments… could not have been more different.

Liang Ji was wild, spirited—a boy in all his reckless charm.

Liang Yun, as elder brother, had long since shed the exuberance of youth.

He stood there, a man long accustomed to authority, unsmiling, grave.

In her previous life, Ying Shi had little to do with Liang Ji’s elder brother.

The house was bound by strict rules; as a widow, she seldom left her quarters, and this elder brother, ever occupied with affairs of state, rarely appeared even on festive occasions.

But Ying Shi resented Liang Ji, resented this corrupted clan, and by extension, resented Liang Yun as well.

Suppressing her bitterness, she turned away, pretending not to see him, focusing on lighting her candle.

But the candle seemed to conspire against her.

Her hands trembled; time and again, she failed to light it. Frustrated, she nearly tossed it into the censer to burn, if only to have an excuse to flee this place of trouble and seek some quiet to make sense of all that had transpired…

But before she could, a long, cool, immaculate hand reached over.

Liang Yun’s fingers pressed the candle upright, holding it for her, offering fresh incense, all the while careful to avoid any accidental touch.

Liang Yun considered for a moment, then said, “Shungong is gone. Sister-in-law, my condolences.”

His voice was low and cold, with no trace of emotion.

He called her sister-in-law, as if to comfort her, yet his manner was distant, unfamiliar.

This time, Ying Shi could not pretend not to see him.

She started, slowly took the candle from his hand, and, her back to him, lit it and placed it in the censer.

She paused, then turned back, her eyes brimming with tears.

She wept bitterly, and, to explain her earlier outburst, spoke to Liang Yun: “I know I shouldn’t have come in here, but I… I just couldn’t help it… I wanted to be close to him, just once more…”

Liang Yun looked up and saw her eyes, veiled in tears.

In the glow of the altar, her beautiful face was streaked with silent grief, wordlessly conveying her sorrow at the loss of her husband.

*

Liang Yun knew all about his brother’s history with Lady Ruan.

They had been childhood sweethearts, inseparable since youth.

After Liang Ji died, the Liang family should never have kept Ruan any longer—though the six wedding rites had been completed, the marriage ceremony itself had not taken place.

They should have parted amicably, allowed her to remarry.

But everyone has their selfish motives, Liang Yun included.

His brother Shungong had died before reaching twenty—unmarried, childless, destined to rest alone in the cold earth.

Yet Ruan, knowing of Shungong’s death, still willingly fulfilled the contract between the families, marrying into the Liang household, becoming the wife of a spirit tablet.

Liang Yun had gladly accepted this outcome.

But when he saw this young sister-in-law, heedless of convention, breaking into his brother’s mourning hall just to bid him farewell—at that moment, a belated guilt took root in his heart, gnawing at him.

It was he, after all, who had insisted on sending Liang Ji to war.

It was he who had doomed this pair—who should have been a loving couple—to be parted by death, to become nothing more than strangers.

He had failed Shungong, and… failed her as well—

.

In the stillness, he gazed at her calmly, and then spoke:

“Does Sister-in-law wish to see Shungong?”