The twenty acres of land granted to Meng Xizhao by Emperor Tianshou were indeed fertile.
The terrain was high, with nearby water sources, and naturally rich soil—no worries about flooding or drought.
The only drawback was the neighbors.
To the east lay the land of Minister Qin, to the west the estate of Grand Tutor Gan. The north was barren, and the south belonged to Chief Secretary Geng. In short—completely surrounded by corrupt officials.
At first, Meng Xizhao thought he should pick another location. After all, the Court of State Ceremonies had plenty of private land. Even if some couldn’t be used, the wealthy Madame Meng would still be behind him—there was no shortage of places to experiment.
But then he reconsidered: achieving results on his own land versus land granted by the Emperor would have different impacts. People are naturally curious, and with so many corrupt officials nearby, if they saw him making bold moves, they might report him to the Emperor, saving him the trouble of performing at court. After all, Emperor Tianshou wasn’t foolish; constant performances would eventually tire him.
Operating under the eyes of high officials had pros and cons. If a scheming official noticed and tried to profit, that would be minor. But if the official was both foolish and malicious, like the Third Prince, that could spell trouble.
Thus, Meng Xizhao brought Zhan Buxiu along today—to observe and be mindful.
It was also a subtle push. Meng Xizhao couldn’t reveal all his plans. Zhan Buxiu, without urgency, might act leisurely, but Meng Xizhao couldn’t wait. The Nine-Month Twelfth Festival of Longevity was approaching, and if Zhan Buxiu lagged behind, it would put him at a disadvantage.
Indeed, though now in the army, Zhan Buxiu still aimed to climb steadily through merit, hoping in ten years to be a general and bow before the Emperor. He wanted to see the Emperor’s reaction at that moment. Of course, if the Emperor had passed in ten years, he could accept that too.
When they arrived among the field terraces, Meng Xizhao alighted—the path was too narrow for the carriage.
Nearby, Zhang Jiayuan, foreman of the estate, ran up happily upon seeing him.
Thanks to Madame Meng’s influence, the estate was well-protected. Under a less capable steward, Meng Xizhao might have stripped them bare by now.
Zhang Jiayuan, dressed in light work clothes, looked healthier than when at the Court of State Ceremonies, all fine silks and luxury. Mid-May weather had grown hot; he wiped sweat from his brow and smiled.
“Second Young Master, why come at this hour? It’s so hot.”
Hearing that, Meng Xizhao really felt the heat. He grabbed the wide sleeves of his clothes and shook them vigorously, sending a rush of cool air inward.
Zhang Jiayuan froze. “Second Young Master… there are people around!”
Zhan Buxiu: “…”
Sometimes he truly felt Meng Xizhao treated him too casually, as if he weren’t even an outsider. At the Court of State Ceremonies he had to maintain appearances; in the streets, the same. Even under the watchful eyes of his mother and elder brother at the court, he had to be careful. Now, on his own estate, shouldn’t he be able to relax a bit?
Meng Xizhao, pretending not to notice Zhang Jiayuan’s distress, asked, “How’s the manor construction?”
Hearing the question, Zhang Jiayuan straightened. “Second Young Master, the timber and bricks have all arrived, top quality. The main beams’ wood still needs two or three days, but at this rate, it should be completed in ten days.”
Without cement or brick slabs, construction was quick, especially for sturdy, unadorned houses.
Meng Xizhao nodded. “And the tenants—have their registrations been transferred?”
Zhang Jiayuan laughed. “Of course. They’re thrilled, practically bowing to thank you.”
These tenants had originally been villagers in nearby settlements. Meng Xizhao had them move into his manor, making them his “clients.” Not clients in the modern sense, but attached tenants under his main household—a different name for tenant farmers.
Being attached had advantages. When the city taxed grain or imposed corvée labor, it wouldn’t reach them. If they worked well and were brought into the city, they would officially become city residents, no longer worried about being evicted due to household registration issues.
Yet, attachment also carried risk. Luck mattered. With a meticulous landlord like Meng Xizhao, paying wages on time, it was good luck. But under an official who only cared for his own profit and not their welfare, the tenants would be helpless.
Although the Great Qi did not have a system of slavery, a ten-year lease contract was effectively a binding indenture. It guaranteed only the most basic human rights—life and death. Beyond that, no official cared whether people had enough to eat or were beaten.
Sometimes even the right to life and death was ignored. Years ago, Qiu Suming, a Director of Salt and Iron Transport in the Eastern Hebei Circuit, presided over a period when the people of Hebei were suffering terribly. Several tenant farmers, unable to survive, pooled their money and sent three strong young men to Yingtian Prefecture to file a formal complaint at the Bureau of Investigation. But outside the city, they were apprehended. Every one of them was disguised in official uniforms. Eventually, the three were imprisoned in Yingtian Prefecture on charges of being spies for the Xiongnu—and never heard from again.
The reason this story became known was because the families of the three young men tried to investigate. Upon learning the grim truth, they protested openly on the street, telling passersby. But the bystanders were powerless. Soon, the Yingtian Prefecture authorities intervened again, arresting the families on charges of inciting unrest in Zhending Prefecture.
How could Qiu Suming, just a transport official in Eastern Hebei, repeatedly call on the Yingtian authorities to handle his mess? It was because that year, the Prefect of Yingtian was Grand Tutor Gan, the Emperor’s most trusted official—and Gan was Qiu Suming’s father-in-law. The prefecture was essentially Qiu Suming’s backyard.
Those events were long past. Even if Meng Xizhao wanted to intervene, he could not. For now, all he could do was ensure that in his small manor, there would be no extortion or abusive practices.
The larger manor could not be built immediately, but three small houses were already complete, serving as Zhang Jiayuan’s temporary office. As for the tenants, they still lived in their village homes for the time being; they would move in together once the houses were ready.
Sitting in the only main hall, Meng Xizhao gestured for Zhan Buxiu to sit, then took the tenant list from Zhang Jiayuan. Each tenant’s name was registered, and they had signed it—though of sixty-two tenants, only seven could write their own names; the rest pressed a thumbprint.
Meng Xizhao frowned at the list. Having personally experienced the pain of illiteracy, now faced with a group of illiterate tenants, he realized he had oversimplified things.
He asked Zhang Jiayuan, “So many cannot read? Then the person I asked you to find—does he even exist?”
Zhang Jiayuan, who had been about to speak on this matter, leaned in mysteriously and whispered, “Second Young Master, don’t worry. There really is one who fits your requirements.”
Zhan Buxiu, trained in martial arts, had keen ears. Even though Zhang Jiayuan lowered his voice, Zhan Buxiu heard every word.
Meng Xizhao’s eyes lit up. “Really? Don’t try to fool me.”
Zhang Jiayuan chuckled. “How could I? You’re far too clever for me to lie to you.”
Meng Xizhao nodded proudly. “I thought so. Bring him here—I want to see him.”
Zhang Jiayuan immediately called out, and soon, a large, trembling man was pushed inside. He struggled and cried, “Not me! Not me! I didn’t do it! Great Lord, I swear I didn’t do it!”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
Zhan Buxiu glanced at him silently; Meng Xizhao caught the look and felt awkward, unsure where to put his hands.
He could only glare at Zhang Jiayuan. “What did you do to scare him like this?!”
Zhang Jiayuan looked equally confused. “I—I didn’t do anything.”
He quickly stepped toward the door and grabbed the man, who was nearly nine feet tall but shrank into a bundle of nerves, making Meng Xizhao—much shorter—appear grotesque in comparison.
Zhang Jiayuan scolded him, “What are you shouting about! I called you here for a good reason, not to beat you! Now quickly pay your respects to the Second Young Master!”
But no matter what Zhang Jiayuan said, the man trembled. Meng Xizhao watched for a while, then decided to act. He stood, retrieved something from his sleeve, and placed it in the man’s hands.
The man felt the cold metal, looked down, and saw a small gold ingot, rounded at top and bottom with a slight indentation in the middle, weighing about one or two taels.
Instantly, the man’s demeanor changed. He looked at Meng Xizhao as if seeing the God of Wealth descend to earth.
With a thud, he knelt, voice booming: “A humble servant greets Second Young Master! Thank you for your generosity!”
Zhang Jiayuan: “…………”
Meng Xizhao smiled, sat back down, and instructed, “Zhang Jiayuan.”
Zhang Jiayuan understood, lightly nudging the kneeling man. “Do you remember what I told you last time? Our Second Young Master is looking for skilled farmers. Tell him what you told me before.”
Hearing this, the man relaxed. He carefully put the gold ingot away, then began:
“A humble servant can indeed farm. My father died early, and my mother was unwell. I have two younger siblings still in swaddling. Since I was twelve, I’ve farmed our rented land myself—rice in spring, wheat in winter. In free time, I planted some tea. My fields yield higher than others’. After paying taxes, I sold the surplus in the city to support my family. I married this year, and my wife is expecting. Last month, I used my tea money to buy ten chicks for my mother to raise, so that by the time my wife delivers, they will have grown…”
Meng Xizhao nodded approvingly as he listened, but when he heard the last part, he quickly interrupted, his lips twitching: “Enough, enough. I understand. That ingot—consider it a gift for your wife’s pregnancy.”
The man’s honest smile appeared, less tense than before. “Thank you, Young Master. You’re truly a good man.”
Meng Xizhao examined the man’s build and believed him. According to what he said, he alone supported four people unable to do heavy work—and soon it would be five—yet his complexion was ruddy and his muscles well-formed. That spoke of real skill.
Curious, Meng Xizhao asked, “You said your crops yield more than others’. How much more exactly?”
The man’s face immediately brightened with pride. “Ordinary farmers get one shi of wheat per mu; I get one and a half. Ordinary farmers get less than two shi of rice per mu; I harvest over two, and if the Lord favors me, three shi. My tea leaves also surpass others’ in fragrance and aftertaste. Tea shops in the inner city always prefer mine.”
Meng Xizhao did a quick mental calculation, then smiled. “So you’re a capable farmer. But to get such a yield, you must have a method. Otherwise, why does your land produce so much while others’ produce so little?”
The man hesitated, lowering his head in embarrassment.
Zhang Jiayuan teased, “…Are you afraid our Young Master will steal your trade secrets? It’s good to have your skills.”
Chastened, the man reluctantly shared his methods, holding back some details. Meng Xizhao understood—who would willingly reveal their prized techniques?
Listening closely, Meng Xizhao realized the secret wasn’t in any special fertilizer or mystical trick. The man’s diligence was extraordinary: from dawn to dusk, tending every plant, removing pests, inspecting each leaf, discarding unhealthy ones, adding soil and fertilizer. His unique edge? Selecting the strongest seedlings from the start and nurturing them as carefully as one would care for a mother in confinement—unlike others who only select crops near harvest.
Still, Meng Xizhao thought, this man was diligent but lacked innate brilliance—not quite the talent he sought. That is, until the man, undisturbed, began rambling about his early experiments with improvised fertilizers, accidentally killing a few wheat seedlings…
Zhan Buxiu nearly dozed off from listening, when suddenly Meng Xizhao slammed the table with a loud clap.
Zhang Jiayuan’s eyes spun; the man jumped in fright. Both turned to see a blur rushing toward them. Meng Xizhao dashed to the man, dropping to his knees beside him.
The man’s eyes widened, utterly confused.
Zhang Jiayuan thought he had seen a mirage. “Second Young Master, what are you doing? Get up!”
Meng Xizhao, extending his leg, lightly kicked Zhang Jiayuan aside, then took the man’s calloused hands in his own with deep intensity. “Tell me, what is your name?”
The man stammered, “…I-I’m Shi Dazhuang, humble servant.”
Meng Xizhao repeated quietly, “Brother Dazhuang…” before falling silent. Then with conviction, he said, “Shi, you are exactly the talent I’ve been seeking!”
Shi Dazhuang blinked, utterly bewildered. Talent? What talent?
Meng Xizhao noted his innocent expression, slightly frustrated. Why didn’t he look awed? No matter, the show had begun; it would play out as it should. He pulled Shi Dazhuang up, guiding him to a chair beside Zhan Buxiu, while Meng Xizhao sat casually opposite.
“Brother Shi, can you read?”
Shi Dazhuang blinked. “I went to a private school for two years.”
“Then do you know who Shennong was?”
Shi Dazhuang hesitated. “Uh… maybe a god?”
Meng Xizhao nodded emphatically. “Exactly! Shennong tasted hundreds of herbs and categorized the grains. If he had not devoted his life, the rice we eat now would be hard to swallow, and our medicines would be unavailable. Our people of Great Qi have always called ourselves descendants of Yan and Huang—the Yan Emperor is Shennong.”
Shi Dazhuang was confused. Yan Emperor… okay, sure. What does that have to do with me, Shi Dazhuang?
Meng Xizhao pressed on. “Do you know that Shennong, before becoming immortal, was just an ordinary man?”
Zhan Buxiu raised an eyebrow. One of the tribal leaders, one of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, called an ordinary man… well, if it makes you happy.
Shi Dazhuang vaguely nodded. He might have heard something about it before.
Meng Xizhao’s expression turned solemn. “He was human, but because of his deeds benefitting countless generations, he ascended to the ranks of immortals—the highest ranks. Not only him, but the Yellow Emperor as well. Even nearer times, like Zhong Kui in the Tang dynasty, became a god in temples because of his loyalty and service. A good official, beloved by the people, could ascend.”
Shi Dazhuang remained bewildered.
Meng Xizhao leaned closer and tossed a small question like a spark: “Brother Shi, do you wish to become immortal?”
Shi Dazhuang froze.
Oh no… the ‘master’ we are attached to is probably a fool.
Meng Xizhao glanced at him, then rose dramatically, sweeping his sleeve with passion. “Shennong divided the five grains—that was a monumental achievement thousands of years ago. But now, though the grains are established, yields vary greatly. Some harvest three shi, some only one. Why? The reason is simple: six words—time, place, and human effort.”
He turned to Shi Dazhuang and asked, “Brother Shi, when you farm, do you have to watch the weather?”
“Of course,” Shi Dazhuang replied.
“And do you need to till the soil, water the crops, and enrich the land?”
“Yes.”
Meng Xizhao continued, “And do you need to toil, sweat, and spend day after day, just to harvest each grain?”
Shi Dazhuang sighed. “Exactly.”
Suddenly, Meng Xizhao’s voice rose again. “Then why have you never thought to seize the time, the place, and your effort for yourself?!”
Shi Dazhuang froze. “Seize… how?”
Meng Xizhao smiled, amused at how easily he had been caught in the rhetorical trap.
“…Naturally, by following Shennong’s example, testing one by one, tasting one by one. If Shennong could taste hundreds of herbs, then you, inheriting Shennong’s gift, can surely try thousands of fertilizers!”
Shi Dazhuang blinked. What?
Seeing his confusion, Meng Xizhao sat down and whispered explanations. It was simple: divide a mu of land into dozens or even hundreds of experimental plots—test whether certain bones or eggshells help the soil; fermented fertilizers are said to double effectiveness, so try them. Breeding could also be attempted: though they couldn’t crossbreed rice, they could select the highest-yield seeds, plant them together, and select the best again.
Shi Dazhuang, having farmed for over a decade, knew how complex and laborious such experiments would be. Farmers, needing to eat, wouldn’t want to dedicate a plot for trials, as it would reduce their harvest. Landowners certainly wouldn’t approve either.
But if it worked? The yield could skyrocket—a monumental achievement.
Great Qi’s laws rewarded contributions in agriculture with land grants, titles, or even promotion. The latter had never been realized, and most efforts focused on tools rather than the fields themselves.
Meng Xizhao continued at a whirlwind pace, talking about drought-resistant seeds, frost-resistant seeds, and varieties with superior taste. Low-yield crops could still be improved for flavor and sold to wealthy buyers.
Shi Dazhuang, stunned, gradually changed his view. “Young Master, you must have farmed before!”
Of course he had—otherwise, how could he know so much?
Meng Xizhao humbly said, “I’m ashamed to admit, it’s all theory—I just had nine years of formal schooling.”
That was the limit of what he could offer. He didn’t know fertilizers or seed selection well; he could only guide a professional and let them handle the work.
He painted a grand vision for Shi Dazhuang: if done well, an acre could yield ten shi even in the far south, and not once per year, but three times! Shi Dazhuang’s mouth watered. Meng Xizhao then outlined his personal vision:
“This effort benefits the present and the future. Not only will our people of Great Qi honor you, but even the neighboring Nanzhao, Xiongnu, and Yuezhi will revere you. For centuries, even millennia, your fame will spread. By then, we will be dust, and you, Brother Shi, will stand equal to Yan Emperor.”
Shi Dazhuang shivered with excitement. Could this be possible? A man with only two years of private schooling—could he really achieve this?
Meng Xizhao seemed to read his thoughts. He gripped Shi Dazhuang’s hands, locking eyes and stirring all his emotions: “Why not possible? When Yan Emperor divided the five grains, no one could read! Knowledge matters little in the face of life itself. If you achieve what I say, you will save tens of thousands. The emperor will grant you titles, the people will build shrines, your mother will be honored as matriarch, your wife will be an official’s lady, and your descendants will live in prosperity, like Confucius’ lineage. No matter how the world changes, your family will always have a future!”
Shi Dazhuang’s heart raced. He felt unstoppable, as if he could lift a hoe and march into battle at any moment.
“Young Master! I… I will work my hardest!” he declared.
Meng Xizhao cautioned, “Think carefully—this is a lifelong task. You cannot leave; you must be with the crops at all times.”
Shi Dazhuang replied with passion, “It’s fine! My wife is already pregnant. I needn’t go home; nothing will be hindered!”
Meng Xizhao smiled inwardly. That worry was unnecessary.
The vision had been set. Meng Xizhao promised to care for Shi Dazhuang’s family: they would move into the estate, receive monthly stipends, and if Shi Dazhuang succeeded, bonuses as well. His two younger brothers would be sent to private school. There would be no more domestic worries.
Shi Dazhuang, overwhelmed, nearly fell to his knees in gratitude before Zhang Jiayuan pulled him back. The estate was not yet built, but the land was ready—twenty acres fully assigned to Shi Dazhuang, free to experiment and innovate as he pleased.
After everyone left, Meng Xizhao sat back, sipped water, and cleared his throat.
Zhan Buxiu, watching the spectacle, felt conflicted. “Are you sure he can do it?”
Meng Xizhao replied calmly, “Not certain.”
Zhan Buxiu blinked. “…Then why act as if he is indispensable?”
Meng Xizhao set down his teacup. “Distrust no one, but use them without doubt. Tenants have little affection for their lord. If I don’t inspire him this way, how could he give his all? Besides, I haven’t deceived him; if he accomplishes the task, everything I promised will be fulfilled.”
Zhan Buxiu: “……”
Exactly—the problem is, he might not be able to do it.
It’s like telling a general, If you conquer all the lands under heaven, you will become an emperor for all time. The logic is sound, but what kind of skill would it take to actually achieve it?
Meng Xizhao looked up at him and smiled. “You underestimate our common people, don’t you? Throughout history, the smartest minds aren’t always in the court—they’re among the people. Shi Dazhuang may not be the cleverest, but as long as he’s willing to work, he will achieve something. And even a small achievement can save lives. What you dismiss as trifles, to a starving person, is more precious than gold.”
Zhan Buxiu felt a blush creeping onto his face. “It’s not that I despise them…”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “I know. You just can’t see it.”
Zhan Buxiu paused, then didn’t argue further. Indeed, he couldn’t see the starving; as a general, he only saw those suffering under the chaos of war. Generals see battles, civil officials see exams—people’s eyes always focus on their peers and achievements. Meng Xizhao, being neither, could see the whole picture.
After a moment of silence, Zhan Buxiu asked, “So you had me train the soldiers to protect Shi Dazhuang?”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him, blinking. “Not really. What protection does he need? What I have him do—the Ministry of Agriculture could do it too—but they don’t know how, no direction. What I need to protect is elsewhere. They’ll be indoors, so don’t ask about that now. You train the troops, I find the people. That’s what I call a two-pronged approach.”
Hearing this, Zhan Buxiu didn’t press further. Whatever Meng Xizhao was doing, it clearly wasn’t malicious.
＊
On the way back, Meng Xizhao rode in the carriage, quietly observing the farmland along the road. Suddenly, he remembered something. “What’s your sister doing at home these days?”
Zhan Buxiu’s hand on the reins froze, his gaze sharpening like a blade piercing Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao froze. He recalled that in this era, one couldn’t casually inquire about an unmarried young lady. His face turned crimson. “What are you thinking! I just thought your sister had a good character, so I wanted my sister to learn from her. You see, my sister keeps running off lately, and I’m worried she’ll get into trouble…”
Zhan Buxiu’s expression softened slightly. He was about to respond when he paused. “How do you know she has a good character? Apart from the day she was kidnapped, you two haven’t even met.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
I said she came to find me herself—believe it if you want.
He stammered, unable to respond. Zhan Buxiu was definitely a sister-lover, a warrior with strong principles—no matter the circumstances, he would not ask questions casually. Meng Xizhao didn’t dare debate.
Zhan Buxiu studied Meng Xizhao’s uneasy expression, found it strange, but thinking of Zhan Hui’s character, he figured she wouldn’t have private dealings with someone like Meng Xizhao. Resolving to ask her at home, he then said, “Ah Hui spends her days reading, practicing needlework, and managing the household. If your sister doesn’t mind, having them together as companions—I have no objection.”
Meng Xizhao shot him a sideways glance.
No objection… look at you, acting like a father to your elder sister.
At home, Meng Xizhao approached Meng Jiaojiao diplomatically, suggesting she make friends with Zhan Hui. Meng Jiaojiao, however, resisted.
“I’m not going! The Zhan family is what it is, our administration is what it is. I, a dignified daughter of an official, why should I befriend a declining household?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
A vein started throbbing at his temple.
He slammed the table. “You’re going! Her brother is close with me now. If you go and dare to bully that girl, when you return, I’ll have Mother come and deal with you! Scratching your ego calling them a declining household—you think our family wasn’t in decline three generations back?!”
Meng Jiaojiao fumed. “I’m your sister! You’re yelling at me for someone else?”
Meng Xizhao: “Exactly because you’re my sister! Otherwise, I wouldn’t care.”
Meng Jiaojiao stood stiff. “I’m not going!”
“Meng Qingshu!”
At the call of her full name, Meng Jiaojiao froze like a cat caught by the scruff. Her eyes, full of disbelief, grievance, and fear, met Meng Xizhao’s. She stomped her foot. “Fine! I’ll go!”
She shot him a resentful glance and ran back to her courtyard.
Meng Xizhao felt a twinge of guilt; who could resist such a look from a sister as beautiful as hers? Yet it had to be done. Without Fifth Prince, there’s Sixth Prince; without Sixth Prince, there are various dukes and lords. As a man, he couldn’t intervene too overtly, and Madam Meng was too involved. The solution: send her to the clear-headed Zhan Hui to influence her properly.
Dealing with Meng Jiaojiao was more exhausting than ten Shi Dazhuangs. Sighing, Meng Xizhao got up, ready to return to his room for a nap.
At that moment, an angry voice came from behind.
“Meng Xizhao!”
He froze. If Meng Jiaojiao saw this, she would have been delighted.
He turned to find it was his elder brother. “Big brother, why call me by my full name? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Meng Xisong pointed at him. “You… you! Where did you go last night?”
Meng Xizhao remained calm, circling his thoughts, and said evenly, “I was at Bu Xiantian at first. Later, I got sleepy. I didn’t dare go sleep on the fifth floor, so I went elsewhere. Big brother, why do you care so much? Where I slept with which woman isn’t your concern.”
In the end, he even deliberately gave a suggestive smile, completely unaware that Meng Xisong had been thoroughly provoked.
Then he started looking around, searching for a convenient weapon.
His eyes landed on a feather duster. He grabbed it and pointed it at Meng Xizhao. “So you’ve learned to lie now, huh? I—I’m going to give you a proper lesson today!”
Meng Xizhao jumped back in alarm. “Big brother, what are you doing?!”
Meng Xisong was seething. “I’m teaching you on behalf of our parents! You can’t even tell the truth, and you go around saying you slept with a woman—do you even have that ability?!”
Meng Xizhao was dumbfounded. What did he mean? Wasn’t he a playboy? How had he suddenly lost that ability?
Meng Xizhao had returned home early that day; Jin Zhu and Yin Liu hadn’t arrived yet. He left Yin Liu at Bu Xiantian and went back himself, planning to tell Lang Jun about the eldest prince being upset. But instead, he walked straight into a disaster scene.
Jin Zhu stared at the feather duster in Meng Xisong’s hand, utterly shocked.
How much trouble did Lang Jun get himself into this time?!
She hurried inside, flapping around like a mother hen, positioning herself in front of Meng Xizhao. “Eldest Prince! Eldest Prince, please calm down!”
Meng Xisong immediately pointed the feather duster at her. “Move! Don’t get in my way!”
Then he turned back to Meng Xizhao. “I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me where you spent the night yesterday, or I’ll break your legs!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with my legs?!
His scalp tingled, and he could only give an answer. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you. I spent the night at Sang Fanyu’s. I was resting there occasionally, but we did not share a room.”
Meng Xisong nearly fell over in anger.
If this hadn’t happened today, he might never have realized that his brother could now lie on the spot. Had Meng Xizhao just said he was at Sang Fanyu’s from the start, Meng Xisong might have believed him—but now, it was obviously another lie!
Angry, saddened, and desperate, Meng Xisong’s hands began to shake. After a moment, he threw down the feather duster, pushed Jin Zhu aside, and grabbed Meng Xizhao by the collar with both hands.
Meeting Meng Xizhao’s terrified gaze, he said with grief and fury, “You! Even if you’re hopeless with women, you can’t go down that crooked path! I know everything already! Er Lang, listen to your big brother—turn back before it’s too late!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Turn back to where? Which path is crooked? I don’t understand a single word you’re saying. And who’s hopeless with women?!