The Valued Lady is Truly Dominant

Song Zhiqing was seized by a desperate need to be believed; the moment he heard Jing Shui ask that, he blurted out the same question he’d just posed to Song Zhiyuan.

“Do you believe there is such a thing as Resurrection in this world?”

Jing Shui froze, a sudden chill crawling up her back, raising goosebumps.

Song Zhiqing stared straight at her, eyes wide, wearing a look that practically shouted: do you believe it?

Jing Shui drew in a breath, pondered a moment, then said, “Since ancient times there has been Pangu splitting heaven and earth, Nuwa creating mankind. Such legends have been passed down for countless millennia, and this world is so vast—if there is such a thing, it would hardly be surprising. This maid has also read some tales of the strange, and they even write of lone ghosts seizing bodies.”

So Resurrection, though unseen, was not something that couldn’t be believed.

Song Zhiqing’s gaze flickered faintly. “So, you believe it as well.”

Jing Shui answered obliquely, “The world is vast; there is nothing it does not contain.”

“By your reasoning, then, how should this lone ghost seizing a body be dealt with?”

“Naturally one must invite a great master to open the altar and perform rites of Evil Extermination to subdue demons and monsters.”

Song Zhiqing’s eyes narrowed halfway; he glanced at Jing Shui and abruptly changed the topic. “With Madam Bai gone, you’ve never married, and you’ve stayed in the Song Family all this time. It’s a delay to your own life.”

Jing Shui’s face flushed slightly. “This maid has never thought of marriage, and it is the same now. To serve Fifth Young Master and Miss well is this maid’s good fortune.”

“Is that so?” Song Zhiqing scrutinized her from head to toe, then looked over at his foolish son squatting under a tree, using a twig to poke at ants. He withdrew his gaze and had the servant wheel him away.

Jing Shui bowed, hands folded, and watched Song Zhiqing’s figure recede into the distance, her eyes holding an unreadable expression.

“Mother.” Song Lingyi rushed over and threw his arms around her.

Jing Shui quickly lowered her head, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped the dirt smudges from his face, speaking softly. “Fifth Young Master, this maid is merely a servant. You mustn’t call me that. Especially outside, you may only call this maid Jing Shui.”

“Jing Shui, Aunt?” Song Lingyi corrected himself, his clear eyes full of dependence.

“Ay.” Jing Shui’s gaze softened; she hugged him briefly, and, thinking of the letters she had received over these years, couldn’t help letting out a sigh.

A little cub one has personally raised—how could there not be feelings?

…

The servants attending in the small study were utterly silent; it was simply that the Prime Minister’s face had been too terrifying when he returned from outside—darker than the sky before a storm. The aura of authority rolling off him came in cold gusts, making everyone afraid to even breathe too loudly, lest they startle the Prime Minister and lose their lives.

Song Zhiyuan sat in the large round-backed chair, pressing his fingers to his brow, his expression shadowed and inscrutable.

Resurrection?

Song Zhiyuan’s eyes snapped open, his lips tightening into a hard line as killing intent surged in his gaze.

If those who usually thought Prime Minister Song was gentle were here to see that look in his eyes, they’d probably drop to their knees crying “Father,” from sheer terror.

This was the true Prime Minister Song who held power over the entire court; gentleness was only a façade—domineering ruthlessness was his real nature.

“Grandfather.”

A soft, milky child’s voice sounded at the door, and by the time a small figure appeared in the doorway, the domineering aura around Song Zhiyuan had completely withdrawn. He smiled at the little bun. “Yu’er is here.”

His eldest grandson, Song Jingyu, dressed in a cool summer shirt, came up to him and, imitating adults, gave him a formal bow. Then, without waiting for Song Zhiyuan to speak, he clambered up onto his grandfather’s knee, using both hands and feet.

Song Zhiyuan didn’t mind at all; he simply held him, indulging in a moment of grandfatherly affection before he asked Song Jingyu, “Yu’er, if someone were to bring calamity upon the Song Family’s foundation and fortune, what should be done?”

Song Jingyu blinked, tilted his head to think, then said, “Whoever harms the Song Family—execute him, destroy him, beat him to death!”

Song Zhiyuan: “…”

“Who taught you that?”

So violent. He liked it very much.

Song Jingyu grinned. “Great-Grandmother. She said, whoever dares disturb the peace of our Song Family—you roll up your sleeves and hit him to death!”