Chapter Sixty-Three: Blame Me, Hate Me (Part Two)

Madam Ruilai’s illness showed no sign of improvement. Wu Youji sought doctors and remedies, but not only did he fail to cure her, her suffering worsened, and eventually he gave up hope. He stayed at her side constantly, tending to her needs, but Madam Ruilai took no joy in his presence. Gaunt and haggard from the torment of her illness, her appearance changed beyond recognition, she now vehemently resisted seeing Wu Youji. Every time she caught sight of him, she would break out in wailing and fits of desperation, threatening to end her own life. Helpless, Wu Youji could only comply; he now watched her from behind a closed door, his heart torn by the sound of her anguished moans.

Now, only Quan Ce and Fuqu were permitted to see Madam Ruilai. Fuqu, sensitive by nature, would weep bitterly during each visit, which only deepened Madam Ruilai’s sorrow. Fearing for her emotional and physical health, Quan Ce eventually persuaded Fuqu to stop visiting.

In her sickbed solitude, Madam Ruilai felt that Quan Ce’s strange, sorrowful gaze grew ever more uninhibited. He rarely spoke, merely attended to her needs with quiet care, shrouded in grief, his every gesture filled with compassion. Many times, she wanted to refuse his visits, but could never bring herself to say the words.

When Quan Ce emerged from her chamber, Wu Youji waited expectantly, lips parted as if to ask something, but in the end said nothing. He knew no miracle was forthcoming, yet could not relinquish his hopes.

“Uncle, since medicine and divination have failed us, we can only turn to the gods,” Quan Ce said, supporting him toward the pavilion. “Tomorrow I am going to Zhongyue Temple on Mount Song to visit my father. If you agree, bring Aunt with you—the scenery there is beautiful, and under the protection of the Great Emperor of Central Heaven, perhaps a change of fate may come.”

Wu Youji was silent for a long moment before he replied, “It seems we have no other choice. I fear I cannot go myself. To Ruilai, seeing me is like seeing a ghost; my presence would only distress her further. I’ll arrange for family and servants to accompany you. The rest I leave in your hands.”

Quan Ce said nothing.

The two faced each other in silence, the pavilion heavy with a foreboding air.

At dawn the next day, Quan Ce arrived at Wu Youji’s residence to collect Madam Ruilai. Every detail was meticulously arranged: over ten maids, more than twenty guards, along with serving women, attendants, and pages. They surrounded Madam Ruilai’s carriage in a protective circle, and three carts were laden with nourishing medicines and provisions.

The procession set out, winding along the road. Wu Youji rode behind them for over fifty li before he finally reined in his horse. Gazing up at the sky, he wondered why fate was so unkind. He had never coveted or fought for anything, never acted against his conscience; he only wished to live honorably and spend his life with the wife he loved. Yet still, Heaven showed him no mercy.

“Are you truly so jealous?” Wu Youji cried out in anguish, but the heavens gave no reply.

Quan Ce, glancing back, saw Wu Youji shrink into a distant speck. For a moment he felt guilt, but mostly helplessness. Fate could be resisted; man-made calamity was another matter.

They left the city, heading south, then east at the border of Longmen. Perhaps the open countryside lightened Madam Ruilai’s heart, for her condition seemed to improve. Passing the Northern Wei Shiquan Grottoes and the golden grasslands of Yanshi, Quan Ce helped her from the carriage to enjoy the sights and offer incense at temples.

On the third day, they reached Song County. Quan Ce arranged for a sedan chair and accompanied Madam Ruilai up the mountain. When they reached the waist of Jade Maiden Peak on Mount Taishi, they came upon a cliff inscribed with ancient, jagged characters.

Quan Ce halted, coming to her sedan and explaining, “Legend says these are sacred characters left by Yu the Great after he tamed the floods. Only seven characters remain legible. Beside them is the Tomb of Qi’s Mother—it’s said that Yu’s wife, Lady Tushan, gave birth here to Qi, the founder of the Xia dynasty. She is revered as the ancestral goddess, and the locals believe this place is especially efficacious in protecting the legitimate descendants.”

Hearing this, Madam Ruilai’s eyes shone. Her greatest worry, as her illness lingered, was for her two young sons. She struggled to her feet, insisting on paying her respects, but the servants all knelt in protest, warning of the steep and perilous path.

Enraged by the restrictions she had suffered these days, Madam Ruilai, breathless and furious, shouted, “You are all insolent, get out of my way! Ce, you must stand up for your aunt!”

“Aunt, please calm yourself—they mean well. Let a few maids help you, and I will stay by your side to ensure nothing goes wrong,” Quan Ce said, compromising, and granted Madam Ruilai’s wish.

She accepted, gripping the maid’s hand, the maids holding the hands of the attendants, as they made their way to the Tomb of Qi’s Mother. Quan Ce followed, his expression unreadable.

“Ancestral Goddess, your descendant is weak of fate and should not disturb your sacred ground,” Madam Ruilai said, standing at the cliff’s edge, touching the faded inscription, her voice choked with tears. “But as a mother, with two sons still so young, I beg your blessing—let them grow up safe and unharmed. Even if I must give up all my remaining years, I do so willingly. Please, have mercy…”

She stepped back and knelt to kowtow, her frail body barely enduring the ritual’s three kneelings and nine prostrations; she had to pause several times for breath before she finished.

Just then, a thick, milky-white mist rolled up by the tomb.

“The goddess has manifested!” the attendants cried, falling to their knees in panic, chanting prayers as the sweet, musky scent of the smoke filled the air.

Madam Ruilai, overcome with excitement, stood and repeated, “Bless us, Goddess, bless us…”

She too smelled the cloying fragrance, but a wave of dizziness and nausea overtook her. Her vision darkened, and unable to keep her balance, she collapsed, the sound sharp and sudden, as if a fish had leapt into a net.

When the smoke finally cleared, everyone looked up to find Madam Ruilai gone. From the mountaintop, a single piece of silk fluttered down, bearing six bold cinnabar characters:

"The sufferings of this world—better to return home."

“Madam, has the ancestral goddess taken her away?”

The servants erupted in panic, all dropping to their knees, knocking their heads against the stone, muttering incoherently in fear and awe.

Quan Ce’s face was ashen; he did not believe it. “Enough of this nonsense. Guard this place—touch nothing. Someone, run to the Song County yamen and summon search parties to scour the mountain. Shazhafu, lead the guards down the slopes, sound the horns to drive out any animals and coordinate the search. The rest of you, return to Luoyang and report to Assistant Minister Wu.”

“Yes, sir!” The crowd, reassured by his command, dispersed to their tasks.

Quan Ce stood motionless for a long time. Juedi approached quietly, “Master, everything is arranged. Are you sure you want to do this? Forgive my boldness, but if you simply kept her hidden, you wouldn’t have to appear at all.”

“But then she would be trapped, neither in heaven nor on earth. If despair took hold, what then?” Quan Ce gave a bitter smile.

“I just think, Master, you go to such lengths and bear such blame—it’s not worth it,” Juedi said angrily.

“You’re wrong. Her resentment toward me is only natural.” Quan Ce patted his shoulder indifferently. “What I have done—breaking up a good marriage—is a grave offense. I never expected anyone’s gratitude.”

“You are a good man, Master,” Juedi said solemnly. “Though she lost her husband, she kept her life. Which is more precious—anyone can see.”

Quan Ce pressed his lips into a smile, saying no more.

For some, love truly outweighs life itself.