Chapter 12

By the time Meng Xizhao rushed to the Imperial City Office, Zhan Buxiu was being pinned to the ground by several men. Standing before him was a pale, beardless eunuch, smiling maliciously.

“Still refusing to submit? Then beat him hard.”

The eunuch’s voice was soft and gentle, almost feminine. The words themselves, however, were anything but gentle.

Zhan Buxiu was forced to the ground, his head pressed tightly down, yet he still lifted his eyes and glared at the eunuch as if he meant to carve the man’s face into his very soul.

Meng Xizhao: “……”

No need to doubt it. Once Zhan Buxiu finished memorizing the eunuch’s face, the next ones he would remember would be Li Huai and himself.

“Stop! Do not beat him!”

The eunuch looked up, irritated at the interruption—then paused when he saw Meng Xizhao. He felt the young man looked familiar, yet could not immediately recall who he was.

When he spotted Li Huai behind him, realization dawned.

Was this not Second Young Master Meng? Without the flowers in his hair, he had nearly failed to recognize him.

The eunuch’s expression changed instantly. He hurried over with obsequious smiles. “Second Young Master, what brings you here? I was just teaching this scoundrel a lesson on your behalf.”

If I had come any later, the one being taught a lesson would be me.

Meng Xizhao pointed at Zhan Buxiu. “It is a misunderstanding. Release him.”

The eunuch blinked. “A misunderstanding? Did he not beat you?”

Meng Xizhao cast a faint glance at Li Huai, who also did not understand why he was doing this. Taking a deep breath, he said again, “Do I look as though I have been beaten? I said it is a misunderstanding. Release him at once.”

The eunuch hesitated. He had long served in the Imperial City Office, and what he enjoyed most was tormenting spirited young men like Zhan Buxiu—brimming with masculine vigor. The harder the bone, the more he relished gnawing on it.

Seeing his reluctance, Meng Xizhao knew what he was thinking.

There was no helping it. In this world, reasonable words rarely worked. Status, however, worked every time.

Well then. He was already quite practiced at playing the wastrel.

With a loud smack, he slammed his hand onto the table, splashing ink. Fury flashed across his face. “You refuse to heed my words. Must my father come in person before you will listen?”

The eunuch stiffened.

Heavens, there was no need to trouble Participating Governor Meng over such a small matter.

He hurriedly ordered the men to release Zhan Buxiu.

Zhan Buxiu climbed to his feet. He did not utter threats. He did not glare at the eunuch with hatred. He simply turned in silence and walked out with Meng Xizhao.

The eunuch let out a contemptuous sneer, thinking he had misjudged the youth—no backbone at all.

Meng Xizhao, meanwhile, quietly edged a step away.

This was what one called building up power. The more he built now, the more devastating his ultimate move would be later. When that day came, they would be the ones weeping.

Li Huai stared at Zhan Buxiu, unconvinced. He could not understand what was so special about this man that his cousin would rush here in such anxiety to save him.

After leaving the Office of the Imperial City, Li Huai was still thinking about giving Zhan Buxiu another show of dominance—letting him know that even though he had been released, it did not mean Li Huai intended to let him off.

But who would have thought that Meng Xizhao would simply turn around, bring Zhan Buxiu onto the carriage with him, and then order the driver to depart. Li Huai was left standing where he was. Even after the carriage had vanished from sight, he still had not reacted.

…Wait.

I have not even gotten on the carriage yet?!

＊

Li Huai had already completed his task—bringing Meng Xizhao to the Office of the Imperial City, a place whose location he himself barely knew. Since the task was finished, Meng Xizhao had no desire to look at that irritating face of his any longer.

The carriage clattered forward along the road. Meng Xizhao glanced at Zhan Buxiu beside him.

“I had no knowledge of this matter.”

The carriage was spacious, yet Zhan Buxiu had chosen the seat farthest from Meng Xizhao. He lifted his eyes and looked at him without much expression.

“Mm.”

Meng Xizhao: “…”

If he had not read the book and known that the male protagonist was naturally the sort of person who could not be forced to say a word even with three sticks—and who disdained lying—he would certainly have thought Zhan Buxiu was holding a grudge against him and quietly preparing to settle accounts later.

For a moment, unsure how to continue the conversation, Meng Xizhao silently turned his head to look outside the carriage while recalling more of the plot in his mind.

Suddenly, Zhan Buxiu spoke.

“Three days ago, my younger sister went to Jiming Temple to renew the eternal lamps for our parents. When she was walking down the steps, the wind blew open her veiled hat. She said that a young man wearing a lotus crown stared at her for quite a while.”

In Great Qi, women held a fairly respectable status. They could go out into the streets, and they could remarry. Some bold ones were even frequent visitors of Baihua Street. Zhan Hui wore a veiled hat not out of modesty, but because she was too beautiful and feared attracting trouble.

Yet after all that hiding, trouble still found her.

Meng Xizhao turned his head back. After a brief pause, he smiled.

“It seems you already believe me.”

Zhan Buxiu looked up and saw his smile—bright and blooming like a flower, with no trace of pretense. He could not help but frown slightly.

“I only believe that today’s matter has nothing to do with you.”

That was enough. After all, putting himself in Zhan Buxiu’s position, Meng Xizhao knew that he would never believe a single word the other person said.

As expected of the male protagonist—such breadth of mind, such composure. Meng Xizhao could only feel ashamed in comparison.

The smile on Meng Xizhao’s face did not fade. He even swayed his head cheerfully.

“No matter. It will not be long before you believe everything.”

Zhan Buxiu looked puzzled. “What are you planning to do?”

Meng Xizhao chuckled but offered no explanation.

After escorting Zhan Buxiu to an alley in the outer city, Meng Xizhao did not even step down from the carriage. He merely narrowed his eyes, waved at him, said, “See you again,” and then left.

Zhan Buxiu watched the departing carriage, his mind filled entirely with confusion.

His emotions showed plainly on his face. His likes and dislikes were clear. He seemed carefree and irreverent, yet his heart was as clear as a mirror. Zhan Buxiu had originally thought Meng Xizhao was easy to understand.

Now he realized that perhaps he had understood nothing at all.

He pushed open the weathered wooden door whose paint had long since peeled away. Hearing the noise, Zhan Hui immediately ran over with reddened eyes.

“Brother, how are you? Did they make things difficult for you?”

Zhan Buxiu closed the door. Looking at his sister’s concerned expression, he opened his mouth. Between reporting good news while hiding the bad and telling the truth, he ultimately chose the latter.

“Meng Xizhao rescued me from the eunuchs of the Office of the Imperial City. He said it was not his doing. He did not know anything about it.”

Zhan Hui recalled that handsome youth about the same age as her brother, and her expression became somewhat complicated.

“Then does Brother believe his words?”

Zhan Buxiu nodded.

“I believe him.”

After saying that, he removed his dust-covered outer robe, picked up the axe leaning nearby, and went to the back courtyard to chop firewood.

Zhan Hui watched his departing figure, her expression growing even more complicated.

Her brother had suffered hardships since childhood. At seven years old he had already begun caring for her and their grandfather. For him, trust was the most sparingly given thing in the world.

She could only wonder whether Meng Xizhao truly deserved her brother’s trust.

＊

Recently, a piece of news had appeared in Ying Tian Prefecture.

A courtesan leader had, while drunk, written a memorial lyric that could be called an unparalleled masterpiece. Reading it moved people to tears, and sighs of admiration spread everywhere. After it circulated, everyone began asking which courtesan leader had written it—and what kind of story lay behind such stirring lines.

Those who inquired returned empty-handed. No matter what, the courtesan refused to discuss the origin of the lyric.

But the more she tried to conceal it, the more curious people became. Some even tried a roundabout method—seeking out another famous courtesan and asking her to befriend the first one. In the midst of banquets and drinking, they finally managed to draw out the truth.

It turned out the memorial lyric had been written by the courtesan for a scholar.

When she was young, she had been kidnapped by traffickers and sold into the pleasure quarters of Yangzhou. She did not remember who her parents were. She only remembered that her childhood home had been filled with the scent of ink and books.

She was fascinated by writing and learning, but the madam who bought her refused to teach such things and only made her practice dancing. She secretly tried to learn characters on her own, but when discovered she was severely beaten. Yet even after the beating, she refused to give up. In her eyes, a thousand taels of gold were not worth a single scroll of books.

When she was twelve, she was caught secretly studying poetry. The madam beat her viciously, leaving her half dead, and then dumped her by the riverbank to die.

A passing scholar rescued her and brought her back home.

The scholar was an orphan with no one else in his household. He harbored no improper intentions and simply treated her as a younger sister. After hearing about her past, he did not despise her. Instead, he let her stay, teaching her how to write, how to read poetry, and how to compose lyrics.

Day after day passed, and she gradually fell in love with him. But the scholar knew nothing of it and continued to treat her as his sister.

The scholar was in poor health and constantly had to drink medicine. Yet he saved money from his medical expenses to buy her a set of writing materials—brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.

She was delighted. Wanting to repay his kindness, she wrote the first lyric she had ever composed and gave it to him. The scholar smiled, patted her head, and praised her, saying it was very well written.

In truth, the lyric had been dreadful—something she only realized later.

As she continued studying, she also tried to find ways to treat the scholar’s illness. She needed silver, so she secretly went out to look for work while he was not paying attention.

But as soon as she stepped outside, the madam who had once owned her saw her.

Seeing that she had not died, the madam tried to drag her back.

She refused.

When the scholar heard the news, he rushed over and immediately took out all his savings. He even said that if it was not enough, he would sell the house.

But the madam would not agree.

Not wanting the scholar to become destitute because of her, she hardened her heart and said that she was returning of her own accord—that she no longer wished to study or live in poverty.

The scholar froze for a moment.

Then he let go and allowed her to leave.

Three months later, the scholar died alone at home from illness. When she learned of it, she cried until no tears remained.

Two years later, the madam suddenly fell ill and also died. Taking the little travel money she had, she found that though the world was vast, she had nowhere to call home. She remembered the scholar once telling her about the prosperity of Ying Tian Prefecture, so she came here alone.

Ying Tian Prefecture welcomed talented women. Before long, she rose to fame.

But no one knew that her talent had been given to her by the scholar.

“You lie buried beneath the springs, your bones dissolving into dust—”

In the days that followed, she would never again meet someone who treated her so well.

After hearing this sorrowful story, the courtesan who had coaxed it out of her left in tears.

Within a single night, the tale spread throughout all of Ying Tian Prefecture.

The lyric became famous. The story became famous. Naturally, the woman herself became even more famous.

People began asking who this courtesan leader was and how they might meet her. But then they learned that after her past had been spread about, the courtesan had grown sick with pent-up grief and had fallen ill.

Meanwhile, Sang Fanyu—who had publicly announced that she was ill and refusing guests—ran out happily to greet Meng Xizhao.

“Second Young Master, you have finally come. This servant has been waiting so long.”

She did not even let her maid lift the curtain; she personally raised it for Meng Xizhao.

“Second Young Master, more and more people want to see me. When will it reach the point you mentioned—when the timing is just right?”

Meng Xizhao sat down and took a sip of tea.

When?

Naturally, when this story reached the imperial palace and even caught the attention of that lecherous old emperor.