You Stole My Husband, So I Seduced Your Son - Chapter 1

It was the height of summer, the oppressive heat unbearable. Even as evening approached, the sun’s lingering rays relentlessly scorched the earth.

Waves of cicada song crashed against the bamboo blinds, their shrill cries piercing through the narrow slits and flooding the room, driving Song Xuwan to distraction.

Gazing at her reflection in the bronze mirror, Song Xuwan saw a woman of striking beauty: willow-leaf eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes, and skin as white as snow. Every frown and smile radiated a captivating allure.

Though she was already twenty-seven, years of meticulous skincare had preserved her youthful appearance, making her look no older than twenty.

With such beauty, any man who laid eyes on her would inevitably be captivated—except for her husband, Zhou Minghai.

Thinking of their monthly conjugal intimacy, Song Xuwan’s delicate eyebrows furrowed.

Was Zhou Minghai’s stamina truly so lacking?

She had heard that teenage boys were at the peak of their virility, yet when she married Zhou Minghai at fifteen, he was already a venerable twenty-five.

If only she could experience the youthful vigor of a teenage boy in the boudoir.

Alas! She could only admire her own beauty in solitude.

As the sun gradually dipped westward, Song Xuwan decided to wait at the second gate for her husband, Zhou Minghai, to return from his official duties. The moment her maid lifted the curtain, a wave of scorching heat washed over her, bringing Song Xuwan to an abrupt halt.

“Has Master not returned yet?”

“We’ve already sent a servant to inquire at the yamen, Madam. Rest assured, our Master is a man of integrity. He would never frequent such places as brothels after work. He’ll undoubtedly rush home without delay.”

Song Xuwan had no doubt about this. In all their years of marriage, Zhou Minghai hadn’t even taken a concubine. He was remarkably disciplined when it came to women.

But why was he so late today, when he usually returned home early?

Especially since it was her birthday.

A growing unease stirred within her.

“What is Ningning doing?”

Nanny Yun smiled and gently pressed Song Xuwan’s bowl of chilled lotus seed soup back down. “A young maid came to report that the Eldest Miss was drowsy throughout her afternoon lessons. I took the liberty of having her dine in her room and rest early, to spare her the trouble of traveling back and forth in this sweltering heat.”

Song Xuwan nodded. She had planned to share a birthday toast with her husband, followed by a romantic evening under the moonlit blossoms. Having their daughter around would have been rather inappropriate.

Seeing Song Xuwan about to serve herself lotus seed soup again, Nanny Yun frowned. “Even though the weather is hot, Madam shouldn’t indulge in cold foods too much. Be careful of your health.”

Song Xuwan was about to retort, but when she saw the streaks of gray in Nanny Yun’s hair, her defiance suddenly deflated.

Even at 27, with children of her own, she was still just a child in her wet nurse’s eyes.

Let her nag, Song Xuwan thought. It’s not worth making her worry over a bowl of lotus seed soup.

Growing restless waiting for Zhou Minghai to return from work, Song Xuwan rose and glanced around before heading straight to the bathing chamber.

“I’ll bathe first,” she decided.

That way, when Zhou Minghai returned, they could dine together and retire to bed without needing another bath, making the most of the beautiful spring evening.

Outside Fuyun Temple, Zhou Minghai’s eyes welled with tears as he gazed at the woman he hadn’t seen in years—the woman who had haunted his dreams.

She stood before him in a simple, unadorned dress, her hair styled in a plain round bun secured with a silver hairpin adorned with lotus blossoms. Her face bore the marks of time and hardship.

The woman who had once seemed ethereal and otherworldly, like a celestial being descended from the heavens, now carried the weight of worldly burdens.

In a daze, Zhou Minghai heard her whisper softly, “It’s been many years since we parted. I hope you’ve been well.”

Composing himself, Zhou Minghai forced down the ache in his chest and said, “You mentioned in your letter that you’d be sending Moyang to the Capital for the imperial examinations. I’ve already prepared a residence for you—a hot spring villa just below Fuyun Temple. It’s usually unoccupied, so you and Moyang can stay there. He can easily travel between the villa and the temple to study with his classmates.”

The arrangement was perfect. A rare smile touched Min Rongxue’s usually icy features.

After years away, she had no desire to stay with her family upon returning to the Capital. Zhou Minghai’s warm invitation had provided a convenient alternative.

By chance, the villa happened to be located right below Fuyun Temple, where several of her son Ji Moyang’s classmates were staying. Moyang typically studied with them at the temple, making the villa an ideal base for her.

“Thank you,” she said.

That single word of gratitude nearly brought tears to Zhou Minghai’s eyes again.

The daughter of Grand Academician Min, once so high above him, the renowned beauty of the Capital, the woman of his dreams—unattainable yet ever present in his thoughts—was now thanking him for such a trivial matter.

How fate loves to play tricks.

“The temple still preserves poems written by my late mentor,” Zhou Minghai said. “Would you like to see them?”

Min Rongxue nodded, gesturing for Zhou Minghai to lead the way.

At the Zhou Residence on Academy Lane, Song Xuwan had entered the bathing chamber. Her maids, Qiucui and Xialiu, followed to assist her in removing her peach-colored silk gauze dress embroidered with butterflies dancing among flowers. They helped her into the steaming bath.

Even after years of serving their mistress, the maids couldn’t help but envy Song Xuwan’s smooth, fair skin.

“Madam’s skin is truly remarkable,” Qiucui murmured. “It’s hard to believe she’s over twenty.”

“Exactly!” Xialiu agreed. “If Madam went out without wearing a married woman’s hairstyle, no one would ever guess she’s married.”

Listening to the maids’ chatter, Song Xuwan smiled faintly. As a noblewoman, she lacked proficiency in the traditional arts—music, strategy games, calligraphy, and painting. Her only asset was her captivating beauty.

Fortunately, men were drawn to beauty. Having enjoyed Zhou Minghai’s favor for years, she felt her beauty hadn’t been wasted.

Seeing the maid Baizhi approaching with rose petal juice, Song Xuwan frowned slightly. “Use jasmine instead.”

She loved the fragrance of roses, but Zhou Minghai preferred jasmine. Today, to please him, she would use jasmine.

After all, every year on her birthday, Zhou Minghai went to great lengths to give her gifts and win her favor. As a token of gratitude, she wanted to make him happy in return.

After her bath, Song Xuwan gazed at the clothes in her wardrobe, her brow furrowing again. She favored vibrant reds and mysterious purples, but Zhou Minghai preferred elegant, understated colors.

Their tastes often clashed.

Yet, over the years, their marital harmony had become legendary. Zhou Minghai didn’t even keep a personal maidservant—a rare devotion indeed.

With this in mind, Song Xuwan compromised once more. She abandoned the newly tailored crimson pleated skirt embroidered with golden crabapple blossoms and phoenix tails, opting instead for the moon-white, celadon-green, cloud-patterned, water-rippling immortal’s gown that Zhou Minghai might prefer.

Beside the stone wall of Fuyun Temple, Min Rongxue studied the poems inscribed there. A flicker of emotion finally touched her usually icy face, and her eyes gradually reddened.

Years ago, her father had traveled to the capital to take the imperial examinations. Short on funds, he stayed at Fuyun Temple. After passing with honors, he remained grateful to the temple and left behind several poems in commemoration.

As her father’s official rank rose, he began sponsoring impoverished scholars like himself. He not only donated money and supplies to the temple annually but also frequently visited to personally mentor the students.

Gradually, Fuyun Temple became a gathering place for countless impoverished scholars during examination years, where they studied and exchanged ideas together.

Her son, Ji Moyang, had already arrived at the temple with his classmates. She had only arrived today and was immediately greeted by Zhou Minghai, who had been waiting for her.

“It’s remarkable that these poems have been preserved.”

During the palace coup of the 20th Year of Gande, Grand Academician Min was implicated, and Min Rongxue’s two elder brothers had been successively demoted in recent years. Yet Fuyun Temple had refused to distance itself, even carving Grand Academician Min’s poems onto its stone walls.

Zhou Minghai was deeply moved by this. In the cutthroat world of officialdom, everyone looked out for themselves. Fuyun Temple, however, truly adhered to its reclusive principles, remaining aloof from the storms of the imperial court.

“His Majesty is benevolent, filial, and wise,” Zhou Minghai said. “He would not punish Fuyun Temple for a few poems.”

“Indeed,” Min Rongxue casually agreed. “If not for His Majesty’s benevolence, Ji Moyang would never have had the opportunity to come to the capital for the imperial examinations.”

During the palace coup in the 20th Year of Gande, Min Rongxue’s husband, Prince Guangyang, was deeply implicated. He ultimately chose to take his own life to protect his family from being implicated.

Following this tragedy, Min Rongxue and Ji Moyang were stripped of their noble status and reduced to commoners, forced to eke out a living in their ancestral homeland.

Fortunately, His Majesty’s magnanimity earlier this year allowed those implicated in the palace coup to participate in the imperial examinations. This was the opportunity that finally allowed Ji Moyang to travel to the capital for the exams.

“It’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be returning to the Zhou Residence?”

“No rush. There’s nothing pressing at home. I’ll escort you to the villa to freshen up before leaving.”

At the Zhou Residence, Song Xuwan emerged from her bath, changed into fresh robes, and strolled to the veranda to wait.

Time flowed like water. The warm, golden sunlight gradually retreated from her robes as dusk deepened. Yet no announcement came from the front courtyard signaling Zhou Minghai’s return.

Song Xuwan couldn’t help but murmur to herself, “Surely the master hasn’t forgotten what day it is today?”