Chapter Seventeen: Flowers Are Destroyed by Cruel Hands

Song Ci's wrinkled hand pinched the pink peony, and she looked at Wu Dan with a wide grin, speaking in a peculiar tone, "What a delicate flower."

Wu Dan was dumbfounded.

A thousand taels, just gone like that?

Wu Dan's face turned pale, her lips moved, "This... this is the Old Master's..."

"I know, my old man bought it, didn't he? Flowers are meant to be admired, but aren't they also meant to be destroyed by a ruthless hand?" Song Ci smiled, her eyes narrowed. "Besides, you seem to have forgotten something."

"What is it?"

"The Old Master you speak of is my husband, my son's father. I am his wife." Song Ci's smile remained, but her tone grew cold. "We are one, even in death we will be buried together. So what if he bought the flower? If he bought it, it's mine. All his things are mine, and mine are still mine. If I destroy this flower, who am I supposed to be afraid of? Who do I need to report to?"

Madam Gong and Hong You were stunned.

Was the Lady finally enlightened, or just enraged and showing her strength?

Madam Gong's gaze burned as she looked at Song Ci with a pleased expression, though she had no idea that while Song Ci said all this, inside she was so sick of it she wanted to vomit.

Alive together, buried together? Good grief, would she really have to be buried with that pudgy old man after death?

This was not the time to dwell on such things. She looked at Wu Dan and continued, "So, I am destroying my own things in my own home. You're just an outsider, making a fuss. Who do you think you are?"

Wu Dan's face turned red. "I—I only meant to say that the Old Master treasures this Er Qiao peony, not to blame you, Lady."

Song Ci’s interest faded.

Madam Gong looked at the maids behind her and scolded, "Why are you all still standing around? Hurry up and drag her out."

Wu Dan panicked.

"Old woman, I dare you!" a hurried voice rang out.

Everyone quickly stepped back and bowed to the newcomer, "Many blessings, Old Master!"

Wu Dan let out a long sigh of relief. It was good that the Old Master had arrived.

Old Master Song had rushed over upon hearing the news. When he saw the Er Qiao peony, now stripped and bare, he couldn’t help but howl, half-kneeling before the flowerpot, his hands trembling, "Er Qiao, my Er Qiao, my thousand taels, ah, ah!"

Watching the white, plump old man wail so miserably, Song Ci’s wrinkled face twitched.

He was even better at acting than she was.

"You wicked old woman, how could you break my Er Qiao? You owe me!" Old Master Song pointed at the flower in her hand.

"Yours?" Song Ci raised an eyebrow. "Yours is mine. I break what belongs to me; I owe nothing."

"Nonsense! How is mine yours? You're so old, don’t you have any shame?" Old Master Song stood up, stamping his foot in anger. "And the rest of you, let go of Peony Lady. She’s mine. I dare anyone to take her away."

The maids instinctively looked at Song Ci.

Song Ci squinted at Old Master Song, "Yours?"

Old Master Song’s heart skipped, his lips moved, and he retorted, "I hired her especially to care for my peonies. Of course she's mine."

"But your person has offended me. What should we do about that?"

Old Master Song snorted, "You're just making trouble for no reason. She hasn't done anything to you. Stop putting on airs."

This damned pig-headed fool.

Song Ci stared at him, suddenly changed her expression, clutched her chest, and leaned toward Madam Gong, "Oh dear, my heart aches from anger. I fear I won’t live long."

Old Master Song: ...

Damn, here she goes again!