Once he’d figured out the whole messy backstory, Wen Tian didn’t feel angry at all. In fact, it was almost absurd enough to make him laugh.
He raised his head, an amused smile playing at his lips.
“Oh? And who’s been gossiping behind my back this time?”
“Li Qingnian and the others might like to fool around, but they know where the line is. Wouldn’t want to wrongly accuse good people now, would we?”
Wen Boli, incensed by his son’s nonchalance, finally dropped the facade of the benevolent father.
“You think I don’t know what happened at the flower banquet?!”
“The flower banquet?” Wen Tian feigned confusion.
“What about it? We just drank some wine and admired the flowers. Since when is that a crime punishable by law?”
“You—!”
Wen Boli choked on his fury, clutching his chest as he gasped for breath. It took him a moment to speak again.
“You and those useless rich brats used your family names to bully commoners. You think no one would find out?”
He jabbed a finger in accusation.
“Is this what your mother taught you?!”
Wen Tian’s expression darkened.
“So you’re here to scold me—for the sake of that bastard child?”
He could endure whatever accusations his father threw at him. But the moment his mother was insulted, even by implication, he would not stand for it.
The word “bastard” landed like a spike in Wen Boli’s chest. He thought of Bai Ruihe holding her child, sobbing, of Wen Zeming’s shame-faced silence.
Rage surged within him. He grabbed the teacup on the table and hurled it at Wen Tian.
“Who are you calling a bastard?!”
Wen Tian dodged it with ease and, instead of getting angry, laughed.
“I said Wen Zeming is a bastard. Why are you so worked up? Born of a mother, raised by no father—what else would you call that?”
“You—!” Wen Boli trembled with rage, pointing at him, speechless.
His eyes shut tightly for a moment before he roared toward the door, “Wen Ji! Bring out the family rod!”
His bloodshot gaze turned to Wen Tian. He wasn’t thinking rationally anymore.
He didn’t stop to ask why his son was suddenly so defiant. Right now, all he wanted was to teach this insolent boy a lesson.
Wen Ji entered quietly, but instead of retrieving the family punishment rod, he bowed respectfully to Wen Tian and moved to stand beside him like a loyal guard.
A moment later, Fu Youqin swept into the room. She strode past Wen Ji, positioned herself protectively in front of Wen Tian, and stared Wen Boli down.
“Family punishment?” she sneered, eyes scanning the room.
“I’d like to see who dares.”
“You’ve raised a son who defies authority and insults his elders!” Wen Boli shouted.
“Everyone says a doting mother raises a useless child—and here you are, still shielding him!”
“My son,” Fu Youqin replied coldly, “even if he were to tear the sky apart, I would stand behind him.”
Her gaze sharpened like ice.
“But you? You’ve come storming back just to defend your bastard, yet you don’t even have the guts to give him a name, do you?”
Once, she had hoped Wen Boli would at least have some decency. Even if he no longer loved her, surely the years they’d shared would keep things from turning so ugly.
After all, marriage was a matter of fate—if they were no longer compatible, they could part ways peacefully.
But she never expected him to come back for the sake of an illegitimate child and accuse Wen Tian as if he were the one in the wrong.
Her children were her reverse scale—touch them, and she would show no mercy.
“Wen Ji, bring them in,” she commanded.
She took a seat beside Wen Tian. The maids served tea—but conspicuously skipped Wen Boli.
He stared in stunned silence as his wife calmly sipped her tea. The meaning in her earlier words was all too clear: she knew.
She knew about the mistress he’d kept hidden for over a decade. She knew about the child.
He didn’t even have time to wonder how they found out. Instinctively, he took a step forward.
“Qin-niang, listen to me…”
“Let go of my mother!” a young voice interrupted him.
Wen Zeming was dragged in, hands bound behind his back. Bai Ruihe followed behind, slightly better off but still restrained by two large servant women gripping her shoulders.
Forced to kneel on the ground, mother and son looked pitiful. Bai Ruihe trembled, her eyes glistening with tears.
Wen Boli’s already muddled mind shattered at the sight.
“You—you all—!”
He glanced at Fu Youqin seated high and composed, then down at Bai Ruihe sobbing on the floor. His face flushed red with shame and guilt. Even his voice lost its authority.
“What are you doing? Let them go at once!”
The servants didn’t move. They stood motionless, heads bowed.
Bai Ruihe looked up, her face streaked with tears.
“Wen-ge,” she choked, then lowered her head again, sobbing silently.
Wen Boli’s chest tightened, suffocated by conflicting emotions. After a long pause, he managed to steady his breathing.
“Qin-niang,” he said, forcing a calm tone, “if you’re angry, direct it at me. What good does this do? You’re better than this.”
He added, “Besides, Ming’er is still a Wen family son. This will only disgrace the whole household.”
“So you admit they’re your mistress and child?” Fu Youqin set down her teacup, its lid clicking crisply against the porcelain. She gestured toward the kneeling pair.
Wen Boli took a deep breath and didn’t deny it.
“We’ve been married for over twenty years,” Fu Youqin said coolly.
“And you’ve only ever had Bai Ruihe. She and her son haven’t even stepped into the Wen family’s inner gate. Why the outrage now?”
She gave a soft laugh, her gaze so unfamiliar it was as if she didn’t even recognize the man before her.
“Wen Boli, open your eyes. This is the Fu residence, not the Wen estate.”
“My father, knowing your pride over being a live-in son-in-law, changed the name of this manor to ‘Wen Residence’ on his deathbed just to ease your shame.”
“But did you take that to mean you rule over this house?”
Her voice turned sharp.
“Did you think I would tolerate you keeping a mistress under my nose?”
The civility drained from Wen Boli’s face. Whatever scholarly refinement he once had was gone, replaced by raw fury and bitterness.
This was what he hated most—Fu Youqin looking down on him like some benevolent deity. He had once fallen for her, wanted to treat her well.
But she always treated him like she was doing him a favor.
How could he bear that?
And now, she wore that same expression again—as if everything he had done over the years meant nothing.
She was still the noble heiress, and he was still the poor scholar she’d plucked from obscurity.
“What do you want then?” he snapped, losing patience. He strode over to Bai Ruihe and helped her up, making his stance perfectly clear.
Fu Youqin calmly retrieved a prepared divorce document from a maid and slid it across the table.
“Sign it,” she said.
“From now on, we’ll have nothing to do with each other.”
She shot a glance at Bai Ruihe.
“Then you’ll be free to marry whoever you like—properly, in the open.”
Wen Boli stared at the document, stunned by how decisive she was. He couldn’t say a word.
The matter had already blown up—dragging it out would only make things worse.
Fu Youqin patted Wen Tian’s hand, and with their attendants in tow, mother and son walked out of the room.
Only Wen Boli, Bai Ruihe, and Wen Zeming remained.
Wen Boli clutched the divorce papers, pale and shaken, an unspoken bitterness rising in his chest.
Bai Ruihe, observing him closely, covered her face and began to sob.
From the side, the view of her delicate, tear-streaked profile—set against her petite frame—was enough to break anyone’s heart.
Suppressing the irritation in his chest, Wen Boli gently helped her up.
“You and Ming’er… you’ve suffered.”
Bai Ruihe dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.
“We’ve brought you trouble. I’m sorry…”
“It’s not your fault,” Wen Boli said coldly.
“It was going to come out sooner or later. This just… accelerated things.”
In his original plan, he’d intended to wait until he secured a solid official position—until he had real power.
Then he would bring Bai Ruihe and their son into the light. As for Fu Youqin, if she could tolerate it, fine. If not… well, he’d deal with it then.
But now everything had exploded ahead of schedule, and Fu Youqin had proven far more ruthless than he’d anticipated. His eyes darkened.
If she could be so heartless, then don’t blame him for being cruel.
“Ruihe,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“The governor’s wife mentioned she could arrange an introduction to the lord governor. Pack a few gifts and pay her another visit. See if we can meet him within the next couple of days.”
Though his tone was soft, it brooked no argument.
Bai Ruihe bowed her head obediently.
“I understand.”
The three of them left the study. As they passed, the servants kept their eyes down, pretending not to see them. Wen Boli kept his face cold and unreadable.
He looked back at the residence one last time before turning to leave.
Now was the moment to see whether all his prior maneuvering would actually pay off.
***
After handling the day’s affairs, Wen Tian pressed a hand to his still-pounding chest and, in an effort to calm down, picked up a book and tried to read.
The next morning, only one of the servants he had stationed outside the village elders’ homes returned.
The servant reported that Master Wen Boli had paid each elder a visit, one after another, at the break of dawn.
No one knew what was discussed, but when Wen Boli left, he looked quite pleased.
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