Chapter 46: Jia She Whips

The others at the table found it strange—he was a capable son, yet he kept calling him a beast.

The servant stammered, “Third Master Jia Cong didn’t come; he only told me to deliver a message to Elder Master.”

Jia She’s anger surged: “I told him to come, and he dares not come? This is outright rebellion! What message did he send you?”

The servant glanced at the table, unsure whether to speak. Jia She flew into a rage, hurling his wine jug at him: “You dead-weight lump, why are you dragging your feet? Speak!”

The servant cried out in panic: “Third Master said his maid is dead; from now on, he won’t write another word in the East Courtyard, won’t send anyone a single character, burned his brushes, and only told me to deliver this message to Master.”

Hearing this, Jia She exploded in fury, wine surging in his head; he ignored everyone at the table and overturned it entirely.

When did this beast become so vile as to speak such cold words? Does he think his father won’t kill him? In a rage, he summoned several servants, grabbed a horsewhip, and headed straight for the Grain Store Courtyard.

…

Tan Chun and Ying Chun returned to the West Courtyard; Ying Chun was sent back to her room first, while Tan Chun went alone to Rongqing Hall, planning to tell Jia Mu and have the old lady intervene—it would go smoother.

She didn’t bring Ying Chun along because a father-son quarrel was inherently shameful; if both sisters showed up, Jia Mu might grow suspicious.

Thus, she was kept waiting a full cup of tea, growing frantic, when the curtain at the door parted slightly, revealing Shishu’s face—pale as death.

“Third Master Jia Cong defied orders; the servants pinned him to the spring bench and whipped him with a horsewhip. I didn’t dare watch longer—I ran back to report.”

When Tan Chun and Ying Chun had left the East Courtyard, they’d specifically told Shishu to stay and watch; seeing her return in such a state, they knew something was terribly wrong.

Tan Chun turned pale; Shishu had run a long way from the East Courtyard—Third Brother Jia Cong must have been beaten for a long time. If she didn’t hurry, someone would die.

She hurried out of Rongqing Hall in panic; Shishu was already waiting at the door. “Miss,” he said, “it’s bad. Soon after you left, Elder Master took servants to the Grain Store Courtyard.”

But when she reached Rongqing Hall, she froze—inside, it was packed with women, all seated.

These household mistresses were sharp as needles; they could read Jia Mu’s preferences instantly, all pulling Tan Chun aside to praise her—some said she was beautiful, others said she was well-bred.

Jia Zheng always preferred quiet when reading in his study; he never allowed maids or servants to disturb him—everyone in the household knew this habit.

She and Shishu rushed toward Rongxi Hall, and from a young maid at the gate learned that Master was in Mengpo Study.

Though these branches weren’t as wealthy as Ningguo or Rongguo, they were all close kin within five generations, always relying on Ningguo and Rongguo for support, living better because of it.

From the young maid who lifted the curtain, she learned that today, the principal wives and young ladies of the Jia family’s Beijing branches had come to visit.

Besides Daiyu, there was also the eldest granddaughter, now serving as a lady-in-waiting in Fengzao Palace—Jia Mu valued this third granddaughter most, admiring her literacy, wit, and briskness, which reminded her of her own youth.

She didn’t care if Jia Mu grew suspicious; she simply said she felt unwell. Jia Mu, who knew her granddaughter’s character and intellect, sensed something was amiss, but couldn’t ask in front of outsiders.

Jia Mu, the highest-ranking elder of Ningguo and Rongguo, had more free time after turning fifteen; naturally, kin and sisters-in-law came to pay respects and strengthen ties.

Only Lady Wang was present; none of the unmarried girls were there. Seeing Tan Chun arrive suddenly, Jia Mu immediately called her over to meet the guests.

Besides, Ying Chun was slow-witted and poor at speech; it was easier for her to go alone.

Tan Chun understood: with so many kin present, she could not mention the East Courtyard incident—it would become uncontrollable and only harm Third Brother Jia Cong.

Tan Chun couldn’t speak of Jia Cong’s plight before these women; she thought the servant had delivered the message, and Elder Master might already have acted—Third Brother Jia Cong might already be harmed. A fine sweat broke on her brow.

Thus, Mengpo Study remained as quiet and tranquil as ever—until the door slammed open without warning or knock.

Jia Zheng frowned, ready to rebuke some reckless maid or servant, but saw Tan Chun standing there, breathless, cheeks flushed.

“Master, hurry and save Third Brother Jia Cong! The East Courtyard—Elder Master is whipping him with a horsewhip! If you wait any longer, he’ll die!”

Jia Zheng, seeing Tan Chun’s tear-filled eyes, turned pale with shock. How could this escalate again? Jia Cong is just a child—whipping him with a horsewhip? Unthinkable!

…

In the Grain Store Courtyard, Jia Cong saw Jia She storm in with servants—no surprise at all.

He had deliberately provoked Jia She with words just now.

Zhi Shao’s forced suicide by drowning had shaken him deeply, making him realize the folly of his past compliance and slow, cautious planning.

Thinking ten steps ahead—there is no such thing as a perfectly safe, meticulously planned path. If he waited until everything was ready, he’d waste years, perhaps his life.

If you think it, do it. One leads to two, two to more possibilities.

He would no longer be suffocated in the East Courtyard.

He needed greater possibilities, more opportunities to stand firm in this world.

He could not let Zhi Shao die in vain.

He must escape the vile, suffocating East Courtyard as soon as possible.

Only then could he find the strength to settle these accounts properly.

Since ordinary methods couldn’t break the deadlock, he would make a decisive move.

Just as in the grove, when he and Qu Hongxiu fought for survival, he had cut off living arms blade by blade.

He would use this brutal confrontation to sever himself utterly from the East Courtyard.

The horsewhip struck Jia Cong’s back again and again; the bone-shattering pain made him tremble, yet he didn’t groan once.

Zhi Shao’s lovely face surfaced in his mind, a knife-twist of pain in his chest.

The flesh wounds barely registered—as if numbed, his mind began to blur.

Jia She whipped him dozens of times, waiting for him to scream and beg—determined to break this beast.

But Jia Cong’s gaze was cold, silent, unmoving, like a corpse submitting to the beating.

Jia She felt a flicker of unease.

Jia Cong knew Tan Chun would seek help; as long as he endured the time, the whip couldn’t kill him outright—only flesh wounds. He had already given up everything.

The guests who arrived later were stunned by the sight—Jia Cong’s back was raw, his clothes shredded, soaked in blood.

They had flattered Jia She by targeting Jia Cong—now this had happened. If he died, it would be their fault.

If the Jia family pursued it, it would be disastrous.

They rushed to stop Jia She, but Jia Cong took the beating in silence, not uttering a word of plea—leaving Jia She humiliated, refusing to listen, continuing the whipping.

As they struggled to pull him back, someone called from the door: “Elder Brother, stop! Why go so far? Jia Cong is still a child—if you maim him, what then?”

(End of Chapter)