Chapter Twenty-Three: The Newlyweds Are Not in the Honeymoon Phase

The scene before Lady Du gave her a moment’s pause. Ming Rou sat at the bedside in nothing but her inner garments, while Du Zhong lay in bed, just about to rise. Upon seeing Lady Du, Ming Rou hastily stood and bowed, saying, “Mother, my husband and I had just retired for the night, so we didn’t open the door in time. I hope you won’t be displeased.”

Lady Du regarded her daughter-in-law with satisfaction—her looks were pleasing, her manners impeccable. She was very content.

“Zhong’er, why are you still not out of bed? What sort of appearance is that?” Lady Du scolded gently.

Ming Rou quickly explained, “Mother, you may not know, but I urged my husband to rest early, thinking of the hardships he endured on his journey.”

Lady Du covered her lips, laughing, and teased, “Ming Rou is so thoughtful—just newly wed and already concerned for him.” The two maids behind her smiled softly.

Ming Rou’s cheeks bloomed like rosy petals. Lady Du said, “Well then, since Ming Rou says so, Zhong’er, you may stay in bed. This old woman won’t disturb you further.” With a broad smile, she took her maids and left the room.

“Mother, take care,” both replied in unison.

Ming Rou covered her eyes and cried, “Hurry and get dressed!”

Du Zhong answered, “Keep your voice down. Open the window and check if Mother’s truly gone.”

Ming Rou grumbled, “You’re so suspicious.” She peered out the window—there in the corridor, Lady Du paused at the corner, turned back toward their room. Ming Rou stared in shock as Lady Du stopped again, seemed to shake her head, then finally disappeared around the bend.

Only then did Ming Rou breathe a sigh of relief.

She glanced at Du Zhong in puzzlement. He shrugged. “As you say, I am suspicious by nature.” As he spoke, he began to slowly undress.

“You—you’re taking your clothes off?!” Ming Rou shrieked. “I told you to get dressed, not undress!”

“My wound is festering—I need to apply medicine,” Du Zhong explained simply, his voice tinged with stoic pain.

Ming Rou stared, seeing him peel off blood-soaked gauze layer after layer. On his broad chest was a wound so deep the bone was visible, fresh blood oozing forth.

Du Zhong tossed the gauze aside, fetched a medicine bottle from a hidden cabinet by the bed. Blood continued to flow; he sprinkled white powder over the wound. Sweat beaded his brow, yet he gritted his teeth, uttering not a sound.

The sight of that dreadful wound and the blood pooling on the bed made Ming Rou tremble inside, her eyes unable to look away, almost fainting.

Du Zhong suddenly turned to her. “Do you have any gauze?”

“I do,” Ming Rou replied, voice strained.

“Hand it to me.”

“Alright.” Ming Rou rummaged through her dowry chest, retrieved a white gauze garment and handed it to him. Du Zhong deftly tore it, wrapping layer after layer around his wound, each motion tugging painfully at the injury.

Ming Rou bit her lip and offered, “Let me do it.”

Du Zhong looked surprised, then nodded. Ming Rou stepped forward, took the gauze, wrapping it around him, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Du Zhong gazed quietly at her, suddenly grasped her hand and murmured, “Don’t be nervous. It doesn’t hurt.”

Ming Rou froze. His hand was rough, yet his palm was warm. She quickly shook him off. “Don’t flatter yourself! I’m not concerned for you,” she retorted, tying the knot swiftly before retreating.

Du Zhong produced a medicine bottle from his sleeve, swallowed a black pill—a gift from Jiang Zhenning, renowned for its detoxifying properties.

“I’ll buy you a new gauze garment,” he said.

Ming Rou’s cheeks reddened. “My family is wealthy—a mere gauze garment, consider it a reward.”

Du Zhong was unmoved; after a while, he said, “It’s late. Let’s rest.” He patted the bed.

“I won’t sleep there. Sitting is fine.”

Du Zhong chuckled. “Suit yourself.” He pulled the quilt over himself and settled in.

Ming Rou glared, annoyed and indignant, moving her stool to the corner and curling up. Bitterly she thought, How could Lady Jiang Ming Rou end up without a bed to sleep on?

She shot a look at the man sleeping peacefully on the bed. Under the flickering wedding candle, perhaps because he’d let down his guard, his chiseled face appeared softer. Ming Rou turned away, muttering, “Never seen such a person—sleeping soundly while making a young lady sit on a cold stool.”

Du Zhong’s lips curled into a smile; he deliberately began to snore. In late spring, the night’s chill seeped through the windows. Ming Rou wrapped herself tighter in her clothes. Sleep crept upon her, and she dozed off against the wall.

Drowsily, she felt a pair of warm hands lift her up.

Morning light filtered in gently. Ming Rou stretched and mumbled, “Cai Chun, pour me some water—I’m dying of thirst.”

Du Zhong sat at the table, swirling a wooden cup leisurely.

Ming Rou grew irritated. “Why isn’t she here yet? That wretched maid—where has she run off to?” She grumbled, reluctantly sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Sunlight flooded her gaze, and Du Zhong, clad in blue, suddenly came into view.

“You! What are you doing in my room?” she demanded angrily, pointing at Du Zhong.

Du Zhong folded his arms and regarded her with ease. “Does Lady Jiang know what day it is?”

Ming Rou lowered her head, embarrassed. How could she forget she’d married into the Du family yesterday? This morning, she wasn’t in her maiden chamber, but in their newlywed room. Yet hadn’t she fallen asleep on the stool last night? How did she wake up in bed now?

Clutching the quilt, Ming Rou demanded, “Tell me—why am I in bed?”

“Oh, that,” Du Zhong drawled. “Around midnight, a sudden gust of wind blew you onto the bed.”

“You think I’m a three-year-old? Listen, Du Zhong! I may have married you, but I do not wish to be with you. So don’t harbor any improper thoughts—I, Lady Jiang, am not easily bullied!” Ming Rou glared at him.

“Mm.” Du Zhong nodded indifferently. Ming Rou felt as if her fists struck cotton—soft, and utterly ineffective.

Cai Chun and Xiu’er entered with water, tending to her. Du Zhong left first. “I’ll wait outside; soon we must offer tea to Father and Mother together.”

After Ming Rou finished her toilette, Cai Chun chose a pink pleated moon skirt for her, complementing Du Zhong perfectly as they walked side by side.

Ming Rou followed behind Du Zhong, surveying the vast Du residence. No bridges, no pavilions; ancient trees and flowers planted everywhere made it more spacious, not poor but far less opulent than the grand Jiang Palace.

Du Zhong suddenly stopped, causing Ming Rou almost to bump into his back.

“Why have you stopped?”

Du Zhong stepped aside, bowed his head slightly, and whispered, “What you saw last night—Lady Jiang, I ask you not to speak of it.”

His warm breath brushed Ming Rou’s neck, tickling her.

“And why should I help you?” Ming Rou looked up at him.

“Because I am your husband,” Du Zhong replied, his obsidian eyes calm and unwavering.

Unlike Han Qingcai, whose emotions were always written on his face, Du Zhong was complicated. He’d weathered storms of blood and treacherous cases—experiences Ming Rou, a sheltered lady, could hardly imagine. As he gazed at her now, she could not meet his eyes—their intensity was overwhelming. She nodded absentmindedly.

The elder Du couple were exceedingly kind, especially Lady Du, who affectionately held Ming Rou’s hand and inquired after her well-being. Considering the young couple’s recent marriage, Lady Du soon let them depart.

Returning to their room, Ming Rou saw Lady Du’s two maids tidying by the bedside. They glanced at the bloodstains on the bed and exchanged smiles. Ming Rou turned away, picked up a fan to cool herself, her face flushing with heat.

Du Zhong leaned against the door. “You eat breakfast alone. I’m off to the Court of Justice.”

Ming Rou didn’t even lift her head, lazily responding, “Mm.”