Married to a Villainous Minister - Chapter 2

Yu Qizhe was the fifth among the many grandsons in the Yu family. The family often referred to the children by their rank in the household.

He didn’t say a word or stop walking. With steady hands, he carried a bowl of water and headed toward the small room in the corner of the courtyard.

Old Madam Yu angrily threw down the rattan stick in her hand. “That’s the good-for-nothing son raised by the second branch! Always sickly and constantly going against me!”

Madam Zhao from the third branch added with a sneer, “So what if he was a young top scholar? He’s been useless ever since. Always taking medicine, and the second branch still spoils him like a treasure.”

Yu Qiaoshan, the eldest son, sat nearby weaving a grain basket. He couldn’t take it anymore and mumbled, “Wulang’s health is what holds him back. Otherwise, he’d definitely pass the exams and become a high official.”

Old Madam Yu fell silent at that. The old master still held out hope that Yu Qizhe would one day recover enough to sit for the exams again and return as a juren (a ranked scholar).

Inside the small room, Yu Jiao could faintly hear the voices outside, though not clearly. She shut her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come.

The wooden door creaked open, and light poured into the room again. Yu Jiao cracked her eyes open. A rough porcelain bowl filled with water was suddenly held out in front of her. The hand holding the bowl was long and clean, with neatly trimmed nails and fingers as fair as jade. His pale wrist was hidden under the wide sleeves of his green robe.

Yu Jiao glanced at the boy’s handsome face and smirked, trying to recall a line from a drama. Flirting boldly, she said, “Little brother, my chest hurts. Won’t you feed me yourself?”

Yu Qizhe frowned at her words. His lips tightened as he muttered, “Shameless.”

Without another word, he turned to leave with the water bowl still in hand.

Yu Jiao let out a small huh in her mind. This dream isn’t going the way she imagined at all. Why is this beautiful boy, who looked like the perfect male lead, so cold to her?

But her thirst is real. Seeing that the boy is about to walk out, she softened her voice. “Little brother, my ribs are broken. My chest hurts so much I can’t move. Would you really leave me here to die of thirst?”

The slender boy turned back. His handsome face is expressionless, cold as frost. His peach blossom shaped eyes carried a flicker of disgust. He crouched down and placed the bowl heavily on the floor beside her.

“Better off dead,” Yu Qizhe said coldly.

Even though it was May and the sun was shining warmly outside, his words and icy gaze chilled the room. He stood up, his wide sleeves billowing slightly, the motion revealing his rejection. Then he turned and walked out. 

His back, clad in pale green, was like a wisp of cloud along a riverbank, fragile yet upright like bamboo. As he disappeared behind the closed wooden door, the room dimmed once again.

Yu Jiao gave a bitter smile. She slowly reached for the bowl and brought it to her lips, gulping down several big mouthfuls. Only after drinking every last drop did her parched lips feel slightly moistened.

With her thirst gone, hunger gnawed at her stomach. She grabbed the coarse steamed bun from the bowl and brought it to her mouth, wondering if it might give her food poisoning. After hesitating, she took a small bite. It tasted like mixed-grain mantou. She chewed slowly and began to eat.

Feeling slightly better, she lay back down and closed her eyes again, hoping that when she woke up, she’d be back in the real world. But the dull ache in her chest and the burning pain in her legs reminded her cruelly that this was the real world.

Reality or illusion, it all felt like trying to see flowers through fog, or the moon reflected in water.

Drifting again, Yu Jiao fell into a light sleep.

Meanwhile, back in the second branch’s quarters, Yu Qizhe had returned. His mother, Madam Song, asked gently, “How’s the Meng girl doing? Did your grandmother see her?”

“She’s awake,” Yu Qizhe replied briefly, then disappeared into the inner room to read.

Yu Mengshan, lying on the bed, relaxed a bit after hearing this. He turned to Madam Song. “Save a little lunch for the Meng girl later.”

Madam Song nodded. “I’ll go cook. If you need to get up or go to the latrine, just call Qizhe.”

Yu Mengshan gave her a warm look and smiled in response.  Madam Song smiled back and left.

Yu Qizhe, the only son of the second branch, was born with a weak constitution. Since childhood, he’d been sickly. But he was also incredibly gifted, so bright it shocked people. 

At just twelve, he took the local tongsheng exam and not only passed, but ranked first in the county, prefecture, and academy levels, earning the small triple honors and becoming a xiucai (a scholar). 

But that brilliant victory also broke his health. Since then, his body had been like a leaky sieve, prone to both minor and major illnesses. No amount of medicine seemed to help.

The Yu family had once boasted an imperial physician among its ancestors, though he was later disgraced and exiled. Over time, the family’s status declined. Still, they had some roots in medicine. The old master Yu had some basic medical knowledge and served as the village doctor, but he couldn’t cure Yu Qizhe.

Even the best doctor in the county had examined him and declared that Yu Qizhe, though only in his twenties, had no real vitality. While ordinary people’s bodies constantly regenerate energy and life force, Yu Qizhe’s was like a candle burning out, each bit of strength used was one less he’d ever have. No medicine could save him. Only a deity could.

And yet, Yu Qizhe was a rare talent. He had already accomplished what most couldn’t at twelve. The old master held onto the dream that one day, his body would recover and he could take the imperial exams again, winning glory for the family. 

That hope was why they continued spending silver on his medicine, even though it pained them.

In the kitchen, Madam Song was rinsing rice and starting the fire. Her eyes brimmed with tears she tried to hide as a deep sorrow filled her chest.

The family was already poor. With Qizhe always sick, medicine was a constant expense and still no improvement. The old lady and third branch had long grown resentful. Fate was truly cruel. Just when things couldn’t get worse, her husband, Yu Mengshan, had recently gone into the mountains for herbs and was attacked by a wild animal, resulting in losing half a leg.

How was the second branch supposed to survive now?

“Second sister-in-law, you’re cooking? Let me help you,” called out Madam Zhang, the wife of the eldest son. She had seen Madam Song heading to the kitchen and followed to lend a hand.

Madam Song quickly wiped her tears. “It’s okay, I can manage. Go help Mother with the grain baskets.”

But Madam Zhang was already stoking the fire. She added some wood and noticed Madam Song’s slightly red eyes. Smiling, she said, “Qiaoshan and the third branch are there too. One person more or less won’t matter. We still have a month before the wheat harvest. There’s time to finish the baskets.”

Madam Song said nothing more and began to clean the pot, adding a little lard before throwing in the soaked eggplant strips and some mushrooms, stir-frying them together.

As the oil sizzled in the pan, Madam Zhang lowered her voice and gently said, “Second sister-in-law, you have to look forward. Life will get better, don’t be too sad. The second branch still depends on you to keep going.”

Madam Song felt her nose sting. She forced a smile through her tears, “I know… but why does life have to be this hard? It’s like there’s no hope left.”

Madam Zhang understood well how heavy the burden was for one woman to bear all this. She felt sincere sympathy and tried to reassure her. “There’s always hope. Who knows? Maybe one day, Wulang will recover. You have to keep your spirits up.”

“If he really could get better… I’d trade ten or twenty years of my own life for it.” Madam Song whispered, willing to give her own life for her son’s.