Chapter 13: Confrontation of the Perfection-Seeking Couple
Chapter 13: Confrontation of the Perfection-Seeking Couple
“Tomorrow, I will send people to help you move. Staying in an inn outside all day long is unacceptable! Come live at home!” Shen Gong’ao declared firmly.
“I won’t go back…” Wuque replied.
Shen Gong’ao’s veins bulged, teetering on the edge of rage. He had never shown such patience before, yet this son remained stubborn.
But Wuque’s gaze toward Shen Gong’ao was completely calm, without any trace of resentment.
“I am one of your three sons. Big Brother and Second Brother have the right to compete for the Heir Apparent Position, and so do I,” Wuque said. “But since you won’t allow me to compete, perhaps in your eyes, I do not deserve to be your son.”
Shen Gong’ao’s expression turned cold. He took this as mere sophistry and disdained arguing with his son.
“Of course, it’s nothing,” Wuque continued. “I will prove to you that I am worthy and capable. I will return home only when you admit I have earned that right.”
Anger flared through Shen Gong’ao, his patience worn thin. He opened his mouth to scold his son.
“Enough arguing,” Wuque interrupted. “We’ve fought for years, and it solves nothing. I will come home for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Hmph!” Shen Gong’ao snorted coldly and turned to leave.
“Wait…” Wuque called out.
“What now?” Shen Gong’ao snapped.
Wuque produced a small box. Inside lay a syringe he had crafted himself, alongside several vials of medicine.
This was insulin, painstakingly distilled by him over many days and nights from the pancreas of pigs.
It was the world’s first insulin, a miraculous cure with astonishing power against diabetes.
“I noticed Mother’s arms and legs are swollen, that she limps subtly when she walks, and her eyes show signs of deterioration,” Wuque said. “These are severe symptoms of wasting-thirst disease. When I asked if she felt unwell, she refused to speak of it.”
Wuque paused; his voice grew slightly hoarse. “Clearly, foolish words I spoke as a child hurt her deeply. That is why she won’t accept my concern or my treatment. This medicine… it is for wasting-thirst disease.”
“I will now show you how to withdraw the medicine and how to inject it using saline water,” Wuque continued. “After you return home, you must inject one dose into Mother daily. It will ensure her health. Later, I will develop medicinal ointments to treat her sores. You must apply it daily. And please… do not tell her this came from me. Say you acquired it from a famed physician.”
For a moment, Shen Gong’ao stood frozen. He took the box, staring at Wuque’s bloodshot eyes and unnaturally pale face. His son must have stayed awake for days and nights to create this.
Shen Gong’ao felt an ache tighten in his chest, then a sudden warmth.
He… the boy had truly grown up. Truly learned responsibility.
And his approach was so thoughtful, so tactful.
Although Shen Gong’ao held little hope for the medicine’s success — wasting-thirst disease was considered incurable; the severe could only await a slow death — royal blood offered no protection. Countless renowned doctors across the world had proven helpless against it. What hope lay in Wuque?
But the boy’s heart was in the right place. That was enough.
“Hmm.” Shen Gong’ao pocketed the box and left.
Outside the inn, the owner and all his servants knelt as one.
Shen Gong’ao inquired, “Has Wuque rested well these past few days?”
The innkeeper answered, “For reasons unknown, the Third Young Master hasn’t slept for days, busy with some task. This humble man dared not disturb him.”
Shen Gong’ao’s heart tightened. Just as he thought! Just as he thought!
The boy’s dream for the Heir Apparent Position might be pure folly, but his intentions, his filial piety… these were genuine.
Years of hardship away from home had sobered him.
Upon returning to the manor, Mu Hongyu waited awake in bed.
“How did it go? Is Wuque willing to come home?” she asked.
Shen Gong’ao replied, “He’s joining us for dinner tomorrow night. Ensure Zhi Fan attends as well.”
“Good. Zhi Fan is a fine woman,” Mu Hongyu said dismissively. “She’s built quite an enterprise these past years. But now that Wuque is back, a woman has no business flaunting herself publicly. She should hand the Star Pavilion business over to Wuque.”
She spoke as if commanding the obvious.
Casually, Shen Gong’ao added, “Incidentally, I heard an exceedingly mysterious witch-doctor has emerged among the Southern Barbarians. They claim he cures baffling afflictions beyond even our Imperial physicians, yet fails with common ailments. I intend to seek him out.”
Mu Hongyu scoffed, “Seek peace of mind all you wish. Summon him. It matters naught to me. With your health restored, your sons flourishing, and the Shen Gong Family holdings secure, any extra day I live is pure profit.”
Shen Gong’ao began to remove his outer robe, ready to retire beside her.
“Out. Go. Go away,” Mu Hongyu commanded sharply. “Sleep in another chamber.”
Shen Gong’ao frowned. “But we are husband and wife. We belong together.”
“I find it unbearable,” she said flatly. “Go.”
Shen Gong’ao sighed helplessly. His wife had possessed a steely will since her youth. As she aged and felt her beauty wane, intimacy between them vanished. Now, plagued by wasting-thirst disease, her limbs swollen and scarred, any proximity disgusted her.
“Why do you torture yourself, wife?” Shen Gong’ao pleaded softly. “After decades of marriage, our spirits are one. Shall we discard this bond over outer blemishes? I bear you no revulsion.”
“You bear none,” Mu Hongyu snapped, her voice rising. “But I do. Leave! Get out!”
With a final sigh of resignation, Shen Gong’ao departed the room.
The following night, a grand feast awaited in the Marquis’s Manor.
A large, round table seated six.
Shen Gong’ao. Mu Hongyu. Nangong Rou, wife of Shen Wuzhuo. Mi Yuyi, wife of Shen Wuyu. Wuque. Zhi Fan.
This marked Wuque’s first encounter with Zhi Fan — the woman who bore his name as husband, whom he had abandoned at their wedding. The woman who then forged a legendary career through sheer talent.
Her beauty held a sharp edge. Her stature true: easily a hundred seventy centimeters tall. Even seated, her posture embodied unwavering straightness: back upright, neck a proud length, waist a taut line, legs placed with immaculate precision.
Arrogance defined her. Even the captivating curve where her hips met her back projected utter confidence. Her make-up screamed bold intensity, yet her expression remained icy and aloof.
Through dinner, Wuque’s two sisters-in-law showered Zhi Fan with praise. Shen Gong’ao endeavored to appear stern yet neutral. Zhi Fan and Wuque ignored each other utterly.
Wuque managed a subtle exchange of glances. Zhi Fan looked right through him as if he didn’t exist. His role demanded proud detachment; begging for the slightest scrap of her attention, however dazzling her figure, was unthinkable.
After the meal, the guests rinsed their mouths. Tea was served.
Mu Hongyu cleared her throat softly.
Instantly, the sisters-in-law fell silent. Nangong Rou, the elder wife, presented a facade of respectful decorum. Mi Yuyi maintained appropriate posture, yet impatience leaked through her eyes.
Mu Hongyu announced, “Though a Marquis’s family by rank, we hail from assimilated roots and observe fewer rigid formalities. I, as your mother-in-law, speak plainly. Forgive my bluntness if it offends.”
Her gaze locked onto Zhi Fan. “Third daughter-in-law.”
“Madam.” Zhi Fan lifted her chin, her snow-white, swan-like neck radiating hauteur.
“Your talent and looks rank among the finest. We deliberately chose you all those years ago for our third son,” Mu Hongyu stated. “Your achievements alone, building such enterprise, are extraordinary. His rejection of you… that was blindness.”
“Thank you for your praise, Madam,” Zhi Fan replied coolly.
Mu Hongyu commanded, “Third Son. Apologize to your wife.”
Wuque rose and raised clasped hands in formal respect. “I apologize, wife. I acted wrongly.”
That marked the absolute limit. Any posture lower than simple recognition of fault from Shen Wuque would chafe Mu Hongyu. She waved dismissively. “Consider the past grievance obliterated.”
Her tone sharpened. “Nonetheless, constant public exposure ill suits a lady. Now that Wuque has returned, return you both to home and duty. Transfer control of your Star Pavilion interests entirely to him. Guide him discreetly from the shadows. Neither of you grows younger. Cease pointless delay and provide heirs.”
Instantly, Zhi Fan’s face tightened. A blast of icy wrath shot directly at Wuque from her eyes.
The immense industry she’d bled to establish—she was meant to simply hand it over to the man who’d discarded her? Why?!
Wuque offered no rejection. No bold declaration of refusal. Instead, he simply watched the stunning woman opposite him with faint, enigmatic interest.
Mu Hongyu noted Zhi Fan’s reaction but brooked no argument. She stood decisively. “My word settles it. Rise. The meal adjourns.”
Zhi Fan’s flawless features flushed crimson. Breath quickened in her chest; indignation caused it to rise and fall dramatically.
She spoke, each word carved from stone. “I refuse.”