The Yue Kingdom occupied an awkward position.
It wasn’t strong enough to dominate other states, yet it wasn’t weak enough to be entirely subservient. It could muster an army of a hundred thousand for battle, but calling it powerful would be a stretch, given its fence-sitting tendencies.
When King Zuo Xian of the Xiongnu initially took the throne, the Yue endured. But a few years later, they plotted to assassinate him, triggering a massive internal conflict. Any royal with even a hint of bloodline believed they were fit to rule. The Xiongnu, having secured their own steppes, looked to claim the victory spoils, only to find their neighbor in chaos. Yue hastily paused their internal strife and united externally.
The Yue queen, the princess married to Zuo Xian, acted decisively: she changed her children’s surnames to her own, exhumed Zuo Xian’s body, and performed a bizarre “marriage by accession” ritual—turning the king into a consort—then pushed her eldest son to take the throne.
Thanks to her intelligence, the Yue were spared Xiongnu annexation. Simply changing the surname reduced resistance; when the Xiongnu army arrived, the Yue resisted stubbornly. Finding no easy victory, the Xiongnu signed a truce: as long as Yue paid tribute annually, they would recognize its independence and maintain friendly relations.
History is oddly consistent.
When the Xiongnu were strong, Yue bowed submissively. Once they weakened, Yue flipped instantly. Over two centuries, Yue’s betrayals of the Xiongnu were too many to count—sometimes siding with Yuechao, sometimes Xia, sometimes distant Kievan Rus…
This is why the Yue were so ethnically mixed. Even the royal family was thoroughly blended: Xiongnu, Eastern European, West Asian, and some Yellow race bloodlines.
A final, somewhat embarrassing note: for two hundred years, Yue had acted as a subordinate to neighboring states. Both Yuechao and Daqi had exported princesses constantly.
Yuechao, engaged in near-constant war with the Xiongnu, sent princesses abroad to prevent other states from interfering. Daqi, not in perpetual conflict, still sent princesses outward—always under the guise of “neighborly goodwill,” preemptively securing alliances.
Meng Xizhao mused that Daqi’s mindset had probably become distorted.
The upper echelons had their reasons, unknown to the common people. To make citizens see sending princesses as honorable, they promoted the narrative: marrying off a princess strengthened ties, a matter of great pride. Year after year, decade after decade, people normalized it—so much so that if no princess were sent, complaints would arise.
Why not send princesses? If none were sent, how could Daqi display its prestige and magnanimity?
Meng Xizhao sighed and idly swung his legs. Civilizing the populace was beyond him; he needed to solve the immediate problem: what gift to bring to the Yue Inn tomorrow?
The Yue Inn stood across the Huai River, twenty zhang east of Dabao’en Temple on Changsheng Street.
Changsheng Street was lined with inns for various states. Some were run by Daqi citizens, others by foreigners. Regardless, all catered to foreign visitors.
Meng Xizhao walked, avoiding his carriage, seeing few Daqi people. Merchants of various nations wore distinctive attire and spoke in different languages; he paused to listen but understood nothing.
At moments like this, it stung.
In his past life, his university major had been in minor languages—unfortunately, from Africa, completely useless here.
Unless Daqi built ships to cross the sea in his lifetime, this skill would remain forever unused.
Sighing again, Meng Xizhao approached the Yue Inn, identified himself, and was promptly received by the Yue envoys.
One advantage of dealing with the Yue: they understood diplomacy. Perhaps one day they’d resume their role as Daqi’s “subordinate,” but for now, their attitude was acceptable—after all, leaving a path open ensured future cordiality.
Had it been the Xiongnu on the other side, whether Meng Xizhao could even meet anyone today would have been uncertain.
The Yue envoy’s name was Juqu Huijue, a member of the Yue royal family. He was a tall, handsome man in his thirties, with deep-set eyes, curly hair, and a pair of light brown eyes.
By looks alone, he was impressive. But his attire—a wide-sleeved robe in the Wei-Jin style, topped with a crown inscribed with six-character maxims—gave him an aura of relaxed, unrestrained, yet calm sophistication, almost like a philosophical monkey at ease.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
He quietly smiled, then opened his eyes and offered a polite flattery: “You must be Lord Juqu. Forgive my forwardness—when you first stepped out, I thought I saw Ruan Ji and Ji Kang alive! It was only upon seeing your face that I realized my mistake. Truly, my apologies.”
Juqu Huijue felt immediately at ease. The Yue had absorbed Wei-Jin culture, venerating scholars and literati, so Daqi’s cultural gestures didn’t impress them much. In the past, Daqi people had flattered him, but they usually praised his clothing as if it were purely Central Plains fashion—he could see through that. He loved Central Plains culture, yes, but he was still Yue royalty and proud of it.
“Style! That’s what I want praised, you fools!”
Juqu Huijue realized Meng Xizhao had a discerning eye. Literati like him judged people not by status but by whether they understood them. He now regarded Meng Xizhao as an exceptional Daqi, someone who could see through him at a glance.
Delighted, he said, “You may call me by my courtesy name, Shuye.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
This explained why Yue people were seen as “pretentious scholars.” The point wasn’t their culture—it was the pretense. They looked refined, but opening their mouths often betrayed them. You could admire Ji Kang, but you couldn’t just slap his style onto someone’s name.
Meng Xizhao had initially worried: if they became close, what if the Yue made him write poems? Now it seemed he could bluff them with just a few words.
He proceeded to shower Juqu Huijue with empty praise, making the envoy glow with satisfaction. Juqu invited him to sit and drink together, but Meng Xizhao politely declined and, before Juqu realized, presented a small gift.
Juqu took the box, unhesitatingly opening it, then asked with mild confusion: “What is this?”
Meng Xizhao explained: “This is a game board I’ve been studying since childhood. By coincidence, a problem that had stumped me for months was recently solved, and the board is now complete. I heard you, Brother Shuye, excel in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, so I carved a full set overnight as a token of my respect.”
Starting in childhood showed Meng Xizhao’s dedication; the sudden breakthrough suggested divine favor, significant for the Buddhist Yue; carving it overnight marked it as the first and only set.
Juqu, unfamiliar with it, immediately felt Meng Xizhao’s sincerity. Tracing the carved squares, he noticed many empty spaces, but some bore the words: “Manjushri Bodhisattva bless with good fortune.”
“…What does this mean?”
Seeing Juqu’s confusion, Meng Xizhao smiled: “This game is called Datengke. Unlike ordinary Go or chess, it requires four players, competing for the top three positions—Zhuangyuan, Bangyan, and Tanhua—with one player failing. But Brother Shuye, with your talent and Buddhist blessings, will never fail.”
Juqu’s eyes lit up.
He had long coveted the imperial examinations in Daqi, but foreigners weren’t allowed. Yue had no such system—too few people to merit a massive competitive screening.
Immediately, he wanted to play. Meng Xizhao joined him, and together with two other subordinates, they played a four-person exam-inspired Ludo game seriously.
…
In schools, this game would be quickly recognized as purely luck-based, a simple pastime. But at the Yue Inn, these people, obsessed with Central Plains culture, indulged fully even in imitation.
Whenever Juqu landed on a square marked “Manjushri Bodhisattva bless with good fortune,” he reacted with excitement, as if truly favored by the deity. Meng Xizhao played two rounds: first, Juqu placed third; the second round, he became first, slapping the table in triumph, nearly jumping up in delight. Seeing Meng Xizhao’s bewildered look, he quickly composed himself, maintaining his literati dignity.
“Zhao-di, dine with me tonight. We shall drink, sing, and enjoy ourselves!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
You’re the one being spoiled!
Entertainment in ancient times was limited. Meng Xizhao’s adapted Ludo kept Juqu engaged for a week, after which the novelty faded. Meng Xizhao had planned this: building rapport through the game, so even without it, he could still keep Juqu in high spirits.
Later, he took Juqu Huijue to the entertainment house he had opened, Buxunxun. The place had been designed specifically for scholars and literati, and it nearly dazzled Juqu Huijue so much that he almost forgot the way back home.
By this point, Meng Xizhao had not only perfectly concealed the truth that he was actually uncultured at heart, he had also planted a powerful illusion in Juqu Huijue’s mind.
Anyone who understood scholars so well—Meng Xizhao must surely be a great literary master!
And now, the “great literary master” was sitting with him, chatting about women.
Among the Yuezhi, the population was small and women held relatively high status. Although there were examples of a man taking a dozen wives, those were rare. Most Yuezhi practiced monogamy. As for the minority cases—whether it became polyandry or polygyny—that depended entirely on which spouse had greater power.
Juqu Huijue was one such example. He had one wife, but back home that wife also kept two male concubines to warm her bed. She was the daughter of a Yuezhi grand general, her status far higher than his own rather distant royal lineage.
After arriving in Great Qi, Juqu Huijue had also kept a mistress. But she was a proper young woman from a respectable family, with only modest learning—she could merely write characters. Because of that, he greatly envied Meng Xizhao, who could sleep with a famous talented woman.
He even asked Meng Xizhao what a talented woman was like in bed. Was she especially enchanting there as well?
Meng Xizhao: “…”
He smiled and said, “What matters in bed is not the person, but affection. If there is affection, then even someone ordinary becomes enchanting. Without affection, even someone enchanting becomes ordinary.”
After hearing this, Juqu Huijue nodded. “Indeed. You people of Great Qi are all deeply sentimental.”
No—only the emperor is.
Actually, not even the emperor.
The real principle of Great Qi seems to be: love one person, and then sleep with a whole crowd.
…
Juqu Huijue asked curiously, “Then toward Sang Xing Shou, do you have affection?”
Meng Xizhao: Are you ever going to drop this?
He paused, then smiled with mild helplessness. “Only a feeling of pity.”
Before Juqu Huijue could ask another question, Meng Xizhao quickly continued, “The matter of love is not something everyone can understand. I am dull by nature and have yet to be granted that opportunity.”
Juqu Huijue nodded as if half-understanding. “Perhaps this is what you call ‘when people are well-fed and warm, they start thinking about… those matters.’”
Meng Xizhao’s hand holding the teacup trembled slightly. Fortunately, the tea did not spill.
He decided he could not keep circling the topic. It would be better to be direct.
“To speak honestly, Brother Shuye,” he said, “when the appointment as Vice Minister of the Court of Diplomatic Reception was first announced, I was worried. If I had to deal with envoys from those barbarous lands, I feared I would suffer endless headaches. Luckily, you are here.”
Juqu Huijue burst into laughter. “Not every envoy is as learned and refined as us Yuezhi. Take the Xiongnu, for instance—barbaric, drinking blood and eating raw flesh, utterly uncivilized!”
Meng Xizhao put on a sympathetic expression. “I have never been to Xiongnu territory myself, but I have heard that they trade in human beings, selling people as if they were livestock. Truly terrifying.”
Even though the Xiongnu once had a glorious past, they still upheld a slave system, which had long been widely criticized.
Compared with them, the Yuezhi seemed far more civilized. They imitated the Central Plains in nearly everything and had abandoned slavery long ago. When the topic came up, Juqu Huijue grew animated and began listing many of the Xiongnu’s flaws.
As the saying goes, the one who understands you best is not your lover, but your enemy.
As the Yuezhi envoy, Juqu Huijue naturally remained wary of Meng Xizhao. Even though they addressed each other as brothers, he would never reveal his own country’s secrets. But talking about the enemy’s problems? That was another matter entirely.
Whatever Juqu Huijue said, Meng Xizhao nodded along. When Juqu Huijue spoke with righteous indignation, Meng Xizhao even joined in the outrage, playing the perfect supporting role. By the time the meal ended, Meng Xizhao had gathered a whole pile of intelligence about the Xiongnu.
For instance, the old Chanyu had grown nearly blind with age but still refused to abdicate. His sons were growing increasingly impatient.
Another example: the Left Wise King and the Right Wise King were at odds. Each supported a different prince, and the two factions fought constantly—utterly ridiculous.
And yet another: during this year’s Longevity Festival, the old Chanyu would likely send a high-ranking envoy to Great Qi to discuss a marriage alliance. The previous princess sent for marriage had died four years ago, and the Chanyu had taken no action since. But recently he had filled his harem with many young beauties. Juqu Huijue guessed that the old man refused to admit he was aging and might soon do something disgraceful.
When Juqu Huijue reached this point, he seemed to realize he had said too much. He laughed it off, claiming he was drunk and hoping Meng Xizhao would not take his words seriously.
Meng Xizhao merely smiled, ordered a bowl of sobering soup for him, and behaved as though he had heard nothing at all.
＊
For the next several days, Juqu Huijue did not invite Meng Xizhao again, and Meng Xizhao was quite happy to relax.
Recently, a game called “Grand Success in the Imperial Examination” had spread from Changsheng Street. In the blink of an eye, the clever common folk had already created countless variations—“Lesser Success,” “Touring Yingtiān,” “Official Fortune Prosperous,” and many others.
Even Meng Xi’ang bought a set and dragged Meng Xizhao into playing with him.
The spring metropolitan examination had ended some time ago, and the results would be posted in just a few days. Previously, Meng Xi’ang had often sighed in despair, but now—perhaps having accepted reality—he could calmly discuss the announcement of the results with others.
He said he did not plan to go look at the posted list. From now on, the imperial examinations had nothing to do with him, so what was the point of staring at the golden rankings? When the zhuangyuan rode through the streets in celebration, he would go to Wangjiang Tower, order a jug of good wine, and watch from afar. That would be enough to fulfill the dreams he had carried for so many years.
Meng Xizhao praised him enthusiastically. “Big Brother, you are amazing. You have truly achieved ‘not regretting what is past and knowing what can still be pursued.’ You are my role model in life!”
Then he added another sentence.
“But I am still going to watch the list.”
Meng Xi’ang: “……”
Meng Xizhao did not have any grand thoughts about it. He was simply curious to see what the legendary posting of examination results looked like. He just wanted to join the excitement.
However, perhaps someone had tipped her off, because on the very morning the results were to be announced, he was woken up early by Madam Meng.
Meng Xizhao groaned in misery.
“Mother, I am on my day off today! I do not have to go to the Court of Diplomatic Reception!”
Madam Meng raised an eyebrow. “I know. That is exactly why I chose today—so the whole family can go burn incense together.”
Meng Xizhao groaned. “Burn incense? Then just take Jiaojiao with you. Why drag me along too?”
Madam Meng yanked his blanket away in one swift motion. “Because you must go with me to fulfill our vow! Last year I made three wishes to the Buddha. First, that the eldest son’s life would go smoothly. Second, that the second son would remain healthy. Third, that Jiaojiao would live happily and comfortably. Now that all three wishes have come true, all of you must come and kowtow in thanks to the Buddha!”
Meng Xizhao asked, “Is Father going?”
Madam Meng replied mercilessly, “Of course not. I never made a wish about him.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
You two truly are a perfect married couple.
After dragging Meng Xizhao out of bed, Madam Meng left the room, allowing Jin Zhu, Yin Liu, and the others to help him wash and dress. But once outside, in front of Meng Jiaojiao, Madam Meng’s expression changed.
She let out a relieved breath and sat down for tea.
Meng Jiaojiao asked, “Second Brother believed you?”
Madam Meng smiled faintly. “Of course he did. The second son has always trusted every word I say.”
…And yet you still lied to him.
Meng Jiaojiao complained silently in her heart, but she still did not understand why they had to keep it from Meng Xizhao.
“Mother, why not just tell him directly? Once we meet Master Mingyuan later, he will find out anyway.”
That was not necessarily true.
A mother knew her own son best. If she told Meng Xizhao outright that she wanted to take him to see Master Mingyuan to check whether the prophecy from years ago had finally been broken, Meng Xizhao would certainly refuse to go.
Even before, he had never been very enthusiastic about incense and worship. Now he seemed to care even less, as if the gods and Buddhas simply did not exist in his eyes. So she absolutely could not tell him directly.
Instead, if she simply tricked him into coming…
With the way the second son’s mind worked—he might not even remember what Master Mingyuan looked like anymore. If that happened, everything would work out perfectly.
As for why she had dragged Meng Xi’ang and Meng Jiaojiao along as well…
Well, today was the day the spring metropolitan examination results were posted. The former might easily grow depressed on such a day, while the latter might get into trouble.
The day the results were posted was almost as lively as the Qiqiao Festival. Young ladies were allowed to go out into the streets to see the newly successful scholars with their own eyes. Beneath the results board, countless household servants stood waiting. The moment they spotted a handsome new graduate, the sharp-eyed stewards would immediately mark him, tie him up, and bring him back home for their masters and young ladies to inspect as a potential son-in-law.
Last year, Meng Jiaojiao had even declared she would capture an imperial graduate and make him her husband.
She had not made such outrageous declarations this year, but who knew whether she had simply decided to take a more low-key approach—only to suddenly pull off something shocking and scare her parents half to death?
Better to keep her here. At least inside the temple, there would be no young gentlemen she could kidnap.
Aside from Meng Jiaojiao, who knew the truth, Meng Xi’ang had also been tricked into coming out. But he was far more cooperative than Meng Xizhao, even helping Madam Meng criticize his younger brother.
“Second Brother, you now hold a proper official post. How can you still be this lazy? A gentleman should be diligent. You must correct this habit of sleeping in.”
Meng Xizhao looked at him with deep resentment.
Meng Xi’ang felt a little uneasy under that gaze. “…What? Am I not allowed to say a word about you?”
“Of course you are,” Meng Xizhao replied. “You are the elder brother, after all.”
Meng Xi’ang: “……”
Still unconvinced, clearly. It seemed he would need to properly discipline the second brother.
When they left the house, Madam Meng and her daughter rode in one carriage, while Meng Xi’ang and Meng Xizhao shared another. The carriage was already cramped, yet Meng Xi’ang kept talking endlessly, lecturing about moral principles without pause.
Listening to him, Meng Xizhao truly wanted to roll on the ground and shout, Master, stop chanting! Stop chanting!
…
When they finally arrived at Jilong Mountain, Meng Xizhao stepped down from the carriage looking completely dazed.
Jin Zhu hurried over to support him. “Young Master, are you alright?”
He waved weakly. When he saw Meng Xi’ang talking with Madam Meng behind them, he quickly walked ahead to avoid them.
Looking at Jin Zhu with pleading eyes, he whispered, “I think my elder brother has a problem.”
Jin Zhu blinked. “What problem does the eldest young master have?”
Meng Xizhao said seriously, “Not being able to take the imperial examination must have been too great a blow for him. He looks fine on the surface, but he is definitely not! Otherwise he would not treat me like a student and bombard me with lectures every single day.”
But Jin Zhu laughed.
“Young Master, what are you saying? Has not the eldest young master always been like this?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Jin Zhu even looked rather relieved. “The eldest young master has always treated you like a son would treat a father. His patient teachings for you are no less than the master’s. It was only recently, while he was busy preparing for the exam, that he neglected you. I was worried you might feel hurt. Now everything is back to normal. Seeing how close the two of you brothers are again truly puts my mind at ease.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
So the current behavior was not the result of a blow—rather, the previous period had been the abnormal one!
Meng Xizhao looked dazed. This would not do. He felt like he might suffer a mental blow too.
Who could endure having a Tang Sanzang at home?
Turning his head again, Meng Xizhao saw Meng Xi’ang glancing around as if searching for him.
“……”
Without hesitation, Meng Xizhao turned and instructed Jin Zhu, “Go, go, go. Let us get away from this place of trouble. If I hear Big Brother lecture me two more times, I am going to grow fur and start eating bananas.”
Jin Zhu did not understand what he meant, but she lifted her skirt and hurried after him.
Madam Meng had just finished greeting an elder she knew. When she turned around, she suddenly realized that out of her three children, only two remained.
The three of them silently looked at each other.
Madam Meng: “…Where is the second son?”
Meng Jiaojiao spread her hands. “No idea. In the blink of an eye he ran off with Jin Zhu. Mother, since Second Brother is wandering around on his own, can I wander around on my own too?”
Madam Meng: “……”
Not a single one of them was worry-free!
＊
Jiming Temple had quite a long history. It already existed during the Western Jin Dynasty, and after receiving incense offerings for so many years, even the grass and trees around it carried a sense of quiet serenity.
Meng Xizhao skirted around the main group that had come to burn incense, taking a narrow, shadowy path up the mountain. Soon, he came upon an old wooden door. He gave it a tentative push and found it unlocked, his face lighting up as he stepped inside.
For most visitors, coming to Jiming Temple was an act of reverence. For Meng Xizhao, it was purely tourism.
…
Jin Zhu was not as carefree. In her eyes, a centuries-old temple was far more mysterious than the palace; one must never wander around recklessly.
She hurried after Meng Xizhao, pleading, “Young Master, we should go back. This area is probably where the monks rest. We shouldn’t disturb them…”
Meng Xizhao looked around, unconvinced. “What monk wears ordinary clothes? Look over there—those clothes drying in the sun are all common garments.”
Jin Zhu shook her head. “Those must be where lay practitioners stay during their brief periods of cultivation. We still shouldn’t disturb them!”
Meng Xizhao shrugged. “I just want to take a look. How could that disturb anyone? You, though, are making so much noise you might startle some meditator.”
Jin Zhu: “…………”
Really blaming me now?!
In truth, there wasn’t much to see—just rows of ordinary rooms. Meng Xizhao wanted to leave, but he didn’t know which way led to the main hall, so he trudged on. If the rooms he had first entered were modest, then the ones ahead should be for distinguished guests.
He craned his neck, hoping to glimpse a sort of “presidential suite,” when suddenly someone stepped out of a secluded courtyard, carrying a wooden basin, ready to dump used water into the mountain stream.
Their eyes met briefly before each looked away.
Then, suddenly, they both froze.
About half a second later, they simultaneously turned in shock.
Meng Xizhao / the servant: “Why is it you again?!”
Being questioned, Meng Xizhao said nothing, while the servant erupted in anger: “How is this even possible? Meeting twice in one day! Today, even the son of a high-ranking official won’t spare you! Tell me, how long have you been following my lord?!”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
“Is that fair? Did you open Jiming Temple? Anyone can come, but I am forbidden? I also want to ask, how is it you and your lord have been tailing me all this time?!”
The servant’s anger nearly made him strike, but then a hoarse, teasing voice echoed from the courtyard: “Not too long—just over three months.”
The servant’s face stiffened for a moment. Meng Xizhao, tired of arguing, strode into the courtyard and saw Cui Ye stepping out from a room.
This time, Cui Ye’s complexion looked worse than when they first met; the only improvement was that he could still walk.
He smiled faintly at Meng Xizhao, though his pallor made it an uneasy sight.
Meng Xizhao paused, then turned abruptly. He didn’t notice the icy glance Cui Ye gave at that instant, and slammed the gate shut behind him.
Jin Zhu, about to follow: “……”
The servant, still holding the basin: “……”
With the gate closed, only the two of them remained in the courtyard. Meng Xizhao hurried across, approaching Cui Ye.
Frowning, he examined Cui Ye’s current condition.
Cui Ye didn’t move, letting Meng Xizhao’s gaze roam.
Although Meng Xizhao was no doctor and didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, after a long inspection, he concluded that while Cui Ye looked fragile, he was not beyond help—and he felt relieved.
“Three months ago, you said it was an old ailment flaring up. This time too? Another flare-up?”
Cui Ye lowered his eyes. “If I said yes, what would you do?”
Meng Xizhao raised his eyebrows, a bit startled. Was it any of his business?
Still, he answered, “I’ll find a trustworthy doctor for you.”
Cui Ye smiled faintly. “And if I said no?”
Their eyes met. Meng Xizhao didn’t flinch. “Still, I’d find a trustworthy doctor.”
Cui Ye let out a faint disappointed sound, brow furrowing slightly. “Just that? Nothing else?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
That was enough. No need to overdo it.
Back when he had mistakenly thought Cui Ye was a servant boy, Meng Xizhao had felt secretly embarrassed. Now it seemed the mistake wasn’t his at all—it was that the Crown Prince simply did not act like a prince!
Which wise and mighty prince ever whined like a spoiled child?
Perhaps Cui Ye was pretending, but his exhaustion and sickness were real; they could not be faked. Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, watching silently for a moment, then finally said, “When we call the doctor, I’ll buy you some candy too.”
Cui Ye blinked. “Why?”
Meng Xizhao replied with absolute certainty: “Candy makes one feel better. No matter how serious a matter is, a piece of candy makes it nothing.”
Cui Ye leaned back slightly against the doorframe and smiled softly. “I suppose that only works for you.”
Meng Xizhao couldn’t help asking, “Then what works for you?”
Cui Ye thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know. But so far, seeing you… it makes me feel a little better every time.”
He spoke earnestly. Meng Xizhao listened with equal seriousness.
After a moment, Meng Xizhao proudly lifted his chin. “Then of course! My existence is meant to bring joy to everyone!”
This, he declared, was the ultimate purpose of a person who lived to bring happiness.
Cui Ye watched him, stifling a laugh, and his complexion regained a hint of color.
Outside the gate, Jin Zhu and the servant listened to the muffled voices from inside. When the conversation faded and the sound of the gate closing reached them, they exchanged a glance.
Jin Zhu decided she couldn’t just stand there, so she curtsied: “I am Jin Zhu, the chief maid attending the Young Master. May I know—”
The servant shot her a glance, clearly annoyed, but still answered politely: “I serve in the Imperial Guards. My full name is Zhang Shuogong.”
Jin Zhu quickly curtsied again: “Ah, Guard Zhang, my apologies. You must not know—today our Young Master accompanied Madam to the temple to fulfill a vow. Madam made a wish for the Young Master’s health a year ago, and since today happens to be his day of rest, we came along. It is absolutely not as you might have misunderstood.”
Zhang Shuogong didn’t believe her. “If it was a vow, why not stay in the front to fulfill it? Why sneak around the back mountain? Anyone looking would find it suspicious!”
Jin Zhu groaned, wishing she could just stop the Young Master from wandering around. She opened her mouth to explain further, but Zhang Shuogong gave her a quick tug, signaling her to be quiet.
Before long, Meng Xiang’s figure appeared in their line of sight.
He too peeked around, and upon seeing Jin Zhu, brightened immediately. “You made me work to find you! Why are you here? Where’s Second Brother?”
Jin Zhu said nothing, instinctively glancing at the closed gate. Meng Xiang noticed and boldly stepped forward. “Mother’s looking for him! What is he doing in there, Second Brother, Second Brother?”
Calling out while pushing at the door, Meng Xiang moved too quickly and too confidently. By the time Zhang Shuogong reacted to stop him, the gate had already opened a crack.
Through the crack, he saw his younger brother bounding out like a startled rabbit, nearly tripping over the threshold, only saved by a hand pulling him back.
He had no idea what happened behind him, as Zhang Shuogong had shoved him down the steps.
Suppressing his anger, Zhang Shuogong roared, “This is my master’s place of practice! Do you even understand the rules? Leave at once!”
Meng Xiang was stunned, muttering, “Your master… has quite the reach, huh?”
Bigger than his brother’s, and such a bold girl at that!