Talk
Zheng Fa followed Steward Wu to the small tower where the Madam lived in seclusion.
In the past, melodies from silk and wind instruments often drifted from this two-story tower, drawing people to stop and listen. But today, the tower was quiet, as though it had been deliberately waiting for him.
From the things he had seen and heard since entering the residence, Zheng Fa pieced together an image of the Madam in his mind.
She scarcely ever left the tower, and she did not even like servants disturbing her with trivial matters. Yet over twenty years, she had held the entire Zhao Residence firmly in the palm of her hand, until everyone in the residence knew only the Madam and scarcely knew Master Zhao.
She had raised a son who was innocent and sharp-tongued. That son was clearly not cut out to be the master of a household, yet among the countless collateral branches passed down through the Zhao Family's thousand-year legacy, not to mention Master Zhao's illegitimate sons in the front courtyard, not one dared claim they could replace the Seventh Young Master as the future head of the family.
If Zheng Fa had to sum up his impression of the Madam in a single sentence, it would be this—those skilled in war achieved no dazzling feats.
"The Madam has not been in a very good mood lately," Steward Wu said quietly ahead of him.
Zheng Fa raised his head and looked at Steward Wu's back.
Steward Wu seemed to be talking to himself. "Though these past two days, her mood seems to have improved a little."
"Thank you for the reminder, Steward Wu," Zheng Fa said softly and gratefully.
A woman filled with a desire to control power and protect her son—when someone like Zheng Fa,