Chapter 7: Checkmate the Heir
1139 Words
Chapter 7: Checkmate the Heir
A mood of quiet celebration permeated the Silk Pavilion. The Queen Dowager's generous reward—a small fortune in silver and gold—had instantly alleviated Eleanor's financial strain. It was more than enough to cover the expenses of the entire manor for two years.
Stewardess Kong, however, approached Eleanor with cautious concern. "My Lady, the Lady Mother was… displeased. But she is your own mother. Surely, she only wishes the best for you. Perhaps it would be wise to heed her counsel."
The words were well-intentioned, but they came from a place of ignorance. Eleanor knew the stark truth: her mother didn't just dislike her; she was capable of orchestrating her death.
"Her heart has been swayed by the cousin who shares her bed," Eleanor replied, her voice even. "Her eccentricity is clear."
"But my Lady, while you were away, the Lady Mother spoke of you often. The servants all said she missed you terribly. She used the cousin to fill the void you left," Kong insisted.
"Did you witness this grief yourself, Stewardess Kong? Or did you hear it from the kitchen staff?" Eleanor asked pointedly.
Kong hesitated. "From… from the kitchen matrons, my Lady."
"Those matrons are my mother's most loyal servants. Their gossip is a tool, carefully crafted for the entire household to hear. Without it, how could they justify a cousin of questionable status taking root here so comfortably?" Eleanor's smile was thin. "If she missed me so, why did she not visit me even once in the south? Why were there no regular letters, no gifts? A mother's love should have tangible proof. Her words are empty."
She looked directly at Kong. "I was the one alone, convalescing a thousand miles away, homesick and sleepless. And I was nothing but a stepping stone for that cousin to establish herself in this manor."
Stewardess Kong paled as the horrifying implication sank in. "This is…"
"We will speak no more of it," Eleanor declared, ending the discussion. "We have the Queen Dowager's favor and our own funds. What is there to fear? This manor, after all, was earned by my blood." She distributed rewards to her household—generous bonuses that secured their delighted loyalty.
The following morning, however, brought a subtle retaliation. The food delivered from the main kitchen was deliberately poor: rice mixed with husks, overcooked vegetables, tasteless soup, and a greasy duck dish. It was a provocation designed to be deniable. Complaining would only see her labeled as fussy and ungrateful.
Eleanor said nothing. She picked out the husks, rinsed the fatty meat, and ate a modest portion. The battle would be fought on her terms, not theirs.
She remembered this date, the fifteenth of the twelfth moon, with chilling clarity. In her first life, it had been her lowest point, a day she nearly died. Today, she was prepared.
As she sat before her mirror, she did not flinch from the memory. Instead, she turned to Hua. "Bring me my riding crop."
Hua, her martial-skilled maid, retrieved the sturdy leather crop. Eleanor had practiced with it during her exile.
"Let me carry it for you, my Lady," Hua offered.
"No. I will carry it myself," Eleanor said, tucking it into the wide sleeve of her heavy winter cloak. She then pressed a gold leaf into Hua's hand. "Go to Concubine Song's courtyard. See if my father is awake, and ensure he hears of a disturbance by the artificial lake." She whispered specific instructions, including a gift of the gold leaf to the concubine to secure her cooperation. Hua nodded and slipped away.
Just as in her previous life, Eleanor encountered her eldest brother, Lian, his wife, and their children near the lake on the way to the Dowager's quarters. Lian, the heir apparent with a minor official post gained through recommendation rather than merit, wore a ceremonial sword at his belt. He was a man of inflated ego and minimal substance.
He didn't wait for her to approach. "So, you've learned to be blind as well as disrespectful? You see your elder brother and fail to acknowledge him?" he boomed, his opening gambit unchanged.
"Brother. Sister-in-law," Eleanor said calmly.
"Is this the courtesy of the manor? Must I command you to speak?" he sneered.
Their relationship had never been warm. His years studying abroad had eroded any fraternal feeling long ago.
"Brother, your criticism is harsh. Have I offended you in some way?" she asked, feigning ignorance.
"Offended? You defy our mother at every turn and have the audacity to ask?!" he retorted.
"I am unaware of any defiance. Mother has not accused me of filial impiety. Perhaps you are mistaken," she replied, her tone cool.
"Silver-tongued serpent! How did our house produce such a creature?" he spat.
His wife tried to intercede, but Lian brushed her aside. "You dare question me? You strut around as if you own this manor! Kneel! I will teach you the respect you clearly lack, before you bring ruin upon us all!"
"Without cause, you would punish me? You overstep your authority, Brother. Father has not spoken. Do you hold no respect for him?" Eleanor's voice remained steady, which only infuriated him more.
"Still you talk back!" He drew his ceremonial sword, holding the scabbard menacingly. "Kneel, or I will beat you into submission!"
He raised the scabbard, just as he had before. The memory of her mother's feigned tears and Bianca's whispered grievances fueled his rage. But this time, Eleanor was ready. In a fluid motion, she flicked her wrist. The leather crop, hidden in her sleeve, snaked out and wrapped around the sword's hilt, yanking it from his surprised grasp. It clattered to the frozen ground.
He stared, first at his empty hand, then at her, his face purpling with shock and humiliation. "You dare raise a hand against me?!"
"YOU dare raise a hand against your sister?!" a thunderous voice interrupted.
The Marquis had arrived. Roused by the strategically delivered message, he witnessed the entire scene: his heir bullying his sister, threatening violence, and being disarmed by a mere crop. In the Marquis's eyes, a military man's eyes, Lian's actions were not just cruel but profoundly weak and incompetent.
Before Lian could stammer an explanation, the Marquis, his temper legendary, strode forward and delivered a powerful kick to his son's chest, sending him stumbling backward into the shallow, ice-rimmed lake with a tremendous splash.
"Mercy, Father, have mercy!" the sister-in-law shrieked, falling to her knees.
Eleanor watched her half-brother flail in the frigid water, her expression as calm and unreadable as the frozen surface he had just broken. The first direct strike in her cold war had ended not with her humiliation, but with the heir apparent floundering, exposed in every sense of the word.
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