Chapter 72: A Secret Hidden for Years

Chu Mu stood frozen in place. He had considered that perhaps he was not truly the son of the Chu family, that he might be an illegitimate child, or even a child of the Yu family lost to the world. Yet what he never imagined was that not only was he truly a son of the Chu family, but also a legitimate one—his birth mother was the lawful wife of the family!

But… something felt wrong.

For as long as he could remember, the current matriarch had always been regarded as the official lady of the house. There was no trace left in the Chu family of his mother's existence. The family records bore no mention of her; neither the ancestral hall in the old mansion nor the general’s estate had a memorial tablet for his mother.

How had the old lady…?

Suddenly, Chu Mu’s eyes widened—smashing the memorial tablet!

That desolate courtyard, those cold and damp rooms, the nameless memorial tablet that no one honored. His thoughts were pulled back to the day he first became Ah Zhao, when the old matriarch punished him by making him kneel in the small ancestral hall.

He remembered what Ah Zhao had said to him that day. She told him she did not know whom that nameless tablet belonged to, only that the old lady loathed its owner so intensely she had smashed it three times in a row.

Chu Mu’s face drained of color, his blood seemed to flow backward. He looked at Ah Zhao with a pleading gaze, desperate for confirmation.

Could that neglected, tormented, nameless memorial tablet really be his own mother’s?

If that was indeed the tablet of his birth mother, left to suffer in the cold, unvisited ancestral hall right under his nose—all this time—what an unfilial son he was! He was undeserving of the name of her child, unworthy to face the mother who had carried him for ten months and brought him into this world!

Meeting Chu Mu’s wounded look and desperate eyes, Shen Zhao gave a heavy nod.

Blockhead, you guessed right— that nameless memorial tablet belongs to your mother!

Receiving her answer, Chu Mu could no longer bear the weight. With a thud, he collapsed to the ground. It was a shattering blow.

What had he been doing all these years? To bring honor to his family, he had risked his life, gone to war. On the battlefield, every fight was a gamble with his own existence. He knew only by doing so could he hope to rise above the rest—so that, even if he died, his death would be valorous and the Chu family would bask in that glory.

He had offered everything earned by the price of his life to those he called kin. He let them enjoy the wealth and renown he brought home. How laughable… so laughable. All his efforts, all his sacrifices, perhaps in their eyes were nothing but a joke.

Yet the one who bore him, who brought him into the world, never received an ounce of his gratitude—could not even find peace in death, right under his very eyes.

Shen Zhao watched Chu Mu and, though she always found him insufferable, for reasons she could not explain, she felt a pang of pity for him at this moment.

What a nuisance. A person like this wasn’t worthy of her sympathy. Now that he knew regret, what good did it do? Where was all this remorse when it mattered?

With all the Chu family had done to him, as a grown man with a sound mind, had he never once suspected something was amiss? The one she ought to pity wasn’t this blockhead, but herself for having to suffer through all this in his place. Such intense emotion—pain and sorrow—would only take a toll on her own body. He was dragging her down with him.

With that, whatever pity she felt vanished. She turned away from Chu Mu and fixed her gaze on the eldest Chu instead. Now was the time to strike while the iron was hot. The present mood and atmosphere were ripe for forcing the truth from the eldest Chu—far better than wallowing in self-pity like Chu Mu, who was really hopeless in moments like this. In the end, she could rely only on herself.

“Elder Brother, how much longer do you intend to keep this from me? Shouldn’t you finally let me in on the secret you’ve hidden for so many years? How did my mother die? Why did the old matriarch hate her so bitterly, that even in death she could not let her rest? Why is there not a trace of my mother’s existence in the Chu household? If she was the legitimate wife, why is she absent from the family records? Why is her memorial tablet denied a place in our ancestral halls? Can you answer these questions, Elder Brother?

I have never asked you for anything. Today, I beg you—tell me the truth. Let me know why the old lady detests me so much, why she would go so far as to curse me barren, why she seeks to destroy everything I have. Did I or my mother do something so unforgivable? Is that why I am unworthy of any happiness in this world? Is that it, Elder Brother?”

“No, Third Brother, it’s not as you think. You have done nothing wrong. Nor has your mother, the rightful lady of the house.”

The eldest Chu looked at his grieving younger brother, struggling to find the words. He was consumed by guilt—guilt toward the lady of the house, guilt toward his brother.

Her death was his fault! His fault!

Had it not been for him—had it not been for him—she would not have been wrongly accused and driven to her death.

He hated himself for his ignorance as a child, for being used by his own mother as a weapon to wound a good and gentle woman. He hated how he was lured by his mother to slander the lady of the house, exploiting her kindness and his own gratitude to her, falsely accusing her of infidelity.

He had no idea then of the gravity of his actions. His mother constantly whispered in his ear that their father neglected her and her sons because of the lady of the house. That if their father loved her less, some of that love would come to them. Craving his father’s attention, he obeyed his mother.

Now, thinking back, he wished he could cut himself to pieces for his crime.

Again and again, in his dreams, he saw the lady of the house wronged, abandoned, scolded, beaten, and humiliated—no one believed her. She had always been kind and gentle, never once harboring ill will toward him or his brothers. When both he and his second brother fell gravely ill, she had watched over them night and day, tireless and devoted—more so than their own birth mother.

He remembered the old servants saying, “The lady loves all the children of the house, caring for them as her own, more so than their concubine mothers.”

Back then, he was full of gratitude. Yet in the end, he betrayed her.

He never forgot sneaking a glance at her, imprisoned in a ruined courtyard, her body wasted to skin and bones, her eyes dull and empty.

Things didn’t turn out as he expected. His mother took the accusation of adultery to the clan elder. Their father was away from home. Their grandfather and grandmother, following the clan rules, ordered the lady of the house drowned in the pond.

He remembered the scene—how the clan members pinned her down in the water, how helpless and terrified she must have been, her struggles and cries ignored.

She kept insisting she was innocent, but no one believed her. At last, she gave up, and he heard her, over and over, in utter despair: “If I die, what will become of my dear Mu? He’s still so small!”

He wanted to rush to her aid, to shout that she had never been unfaithful. He knew it was he who had given his mother the lady’s underclothes.

But his mother held him fast, clutching the infant Third Brother in her arms, whispering threats in his ear: “Your dear lady cares most about this baby. If you dare say a word, no adult will believe you. And if you do, I’ll see to it that this baby doesn’t survive, for who knows if this little bastard is even a true son of the Chu family, when your ‘dear lady’ has been with another man.”

Shen Zhao watched the eldest Chu, lost in the agony of memory, and spoke again: