A single lamp burned through the night in the courtyard of Bi Bo Yard.
Jiang Fuying sat upright on the couch, every muscle tense, waiting for news from the shop.
The sound of the bedroom door thrown open punched through the hush like a gunshot.
Lu Huaizhou swept in, all in black, as if he had stepped out of a gust of wind and dust, smiling as he approached. “It’s done.”
The words made something tighten in Jiang Fuying. She rose on instinct.
From the yard came a shout that scattered any remaining quiet: “Young Mistress, it’s bad! There’s word from the shop—everything’s collapsed!”
They looked at one another and said nothing.
Lu raised an eyebrow when she stayed silent, and the pride in his voice was almost a caress. “I always keep my promises. Do you believe me now, Miss Jiang?”
He’d promised to back her—had even found men who could remove the main beam, just as she wanted. And now he was standing there, meaning every boast.
A ghost of a smile touched the dark of her eyes and she gave him a sharp thumbs-up. “Of course I believe you. After all, who doesn’t know you’re the most capable of all the playboys.”
She pushed the word “playboy” deliberately, heavier than necessary.
Heat crept up Lu’s neck. He could hear the teasing in her tone as plainly as if she’d slapped him. “I insist on being a playboy because—”
He was about to explain, to be sincere, when calls at the door grew more urgent. “Young Mistress, the shop’s in chaos. You must go at once!”
Light fluttered behind Jiang Fuying’s lashes. Chaos—good. Most of what she’d wanted had been achieved already. Still, she had to see for herself.
“Young Master, we can talk back at the residence,” she said apologetically, shrugging on her outer robe. Then she strode out.
Lu stared after her for a heartbeat, then smiled with helpless affection. It was late—no husband worth his name let his wife go into danger alone. He hurried after her.
White Dew Lane was quiet and narrow under the moon. They arrived one after the other to find the renovation crew waiting outside the shop. Jiang Fuying led her maid straight to the storefront; Lu fell back into the gloom of the alley, his valet and a couple of retainers trailing him like shadows.
When he stuck his head out at the corner to peer, the valet could not resist a poke. “Young Master, you aren’t out here on another of your little investigations—followed the Young Mistress again, are you?”
Lu shot him a look. “Don’t call it following. I have duties.”
The valet shut up at once. Duties, indeed.
The foreman, Zhang, let out a sigh the moment he saw her. He immediately tried to dodge responsibility. “Young Mistress, please understand. All the finishing was done in daylight—there were no defects. What happened tonight must be deliberate sabotage.”
Jiang Fuying’s eyes narrowed into knives. She knew the beam had been taken down on her instruction—she had been the one to cause tonight’s mess. But she let the foreman talk. Let him lie.
“You’re saying that since the work passed inspection in daylight, you have no stake in what happened under cover of night?” Her voice was cool, each word a needle.
Zhang’s smile cracked. He babbled. “No, no—Madam, that’s not what I mean. We followed your orders to the letter, we sought the best materials…there shouldn’t have been any problem. Tonight…we’re baffled.”
There was a faint, almost imperceptible curl of contempt at the corner of Jiang Fuying’s mouth. She had waited to hear that very defense.
“Words aren’t proof,” she said. “Bring out your ledger of purchased materials and expenses. If the accounts check out, I’ll believe tonight’s mishap had nothing to do with you.”
Face drained to ash, Zhang’s jaw worked. They had treated her like an inexperienced family madam—soft, easily persuaded. But a ledger that recorded every material, every cost…they had no prepared fake book to produce at a moment’s notice. Panic showed in the tremble at his throat.
“I—I didn’t bring the ledger with me,” Zhang stammered. “If someone fetches it now, it will take—”
Jiang Fuying lifted her chin. “You have the time it takes one incense stick to burn. Bring the books, or I will report this to the magistrate.”
Beads of sweat sprang to Zhang’s forehead. One incense stick could be enough—but only if the ledger existed and was honest. It wasn’t. He swallowed and called a couple of laborers, loud enough for the others to hear. “Quick, fetch the ledgers!”
As the workers hurried away, Zhang lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hiss. “Bring Second Madam and Third Madam. If they come settle this, the Young Mistress won’t press for the accounts.”
The men scattered like stones. Jiang Fuying watched the little exchange with an unreadable face and did nothing to stop it. She wanted the two madams to appear.
At the Zhen’nan Duke’s western garden the night was as bright as a room with the lamps left on. The sudden arrival of laborers roused Second Madam and Third Madam out of a late rest. When they learned that Jiang Fuying insisted on auditing the books, they flushed.
“If we don’t go now, she’ll really take this to the authorities!” Third Madam fretted.
Second Madam kept a veneer of calm. “We’ll go. I don’t believe she’ll actually report us for being selfish or rude.”
Still, she asked with a hint of calculation, “Is the Young Master at the shop?”
“Not there,” the laborer said, beating his chest with assurance. “Only the Young Mistress.”
That settled it. Second Madam brightened as if a door had opened. “Let’s go. I want to see how far she’ll show off tonight.”
An incense stick burned down without the ledger. Instead, the night swallowed two figures: Second Madam and Third Madam appearing from the dark, all smiles and concern.
“Fuying,” Second Madam gushed, taking Jiang Fuying’s hand like an aunt. “We heard the shop had trouble and came at once. We’re terribly worried for you.”
“Worried?” Jiang Fuying blinked slowly. “Were you two planning to help me audit the accounts?”
Second and Third Madams exchanged a guilty look. They hadn’t asked the men to bring any real ledger—only a paper to placate the Young Mistress. Second Madam took a practiced, conciliatory tone. “Fuying, this renovation crew was introduced by us. We feel terribly sorry this has happened. It’s late—why don’t you return home and rest? Leave it to us to put things right.”
“Really?” Jiang Fuying hesitated, playing the part of the uneasy younger woman. “But the shop—”
“You can trust us,” Second Madam cut in, too smoothly. “We wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
No sooner had her reassurance fallen into the night than a cold, cutting voice sliced through the pretense.
“Such solicitous aunts—how can my wife possibly be at ease with you two around?”
Lu Huaizhou stepped from the shadows, the mockery in his voice like a blade. The insult hung naked in the alley, a public unmasking of their false concern.