Chapter 60: Serving the Bed

So although the fan shop owner never received a deposit, he still enjoyed a fine meal at the mansion of the External Troops Registrar thanks to Wang Yang’s name.

Jiao Zheng’s daughter, Jiao Yan, blinked her eyes and asked sweetly:

“Young Master, I’ve never seen a fan like this—it seems to be made of paper? Won’t it break? What’s special about opening and closing it? May I take a look?”

Wang Yang said: “It’s just made for fun. If you like it, I’ll give you one later.”

Though he spoke those words, he did not hand the paper fan to Jiao Yan.

Seeing Wang Yang refuse, Jiao Yan dared not press further.

Jiao Zheng, meanwhile, became even more convinced that Wang Yang was a pampered noble youth who favored novel and eccentric things, and he quietly pondered how to win Wang Yang’s favor in the future.

Cups and goblets clinked, chopsticks crossed.

The Jiao family lavished attention, urging wine and food upon him; Wang Yang, initially aloof, gradually loosened up after several rounds of drinking, and the atmosphere grew warm.

Soon after, another man came to request an audience with Wang Yang, bringing him a small slip of paper.

Wang Yang glanced at the note, his expression shifting slightly, then asked Jiao Zheng: “Old Jiao, you said earlier you were what kind of registrar?”

“Your humble servant currently serves as External Troops Registrar,” Jiao Zheng replied promptly.

“Oh right—so the staffing and deployment of the border garrisons outside the city falls under your jurisdiction, correct?”

“Yes, Your Humble Servant oversees the External Troops Bureau’s affairs. Deployment of border troops is one of my duties.”

“Good. Then I have a favor to ask you—”

Jiao Zheng immediately said: “Young Master, please command me—anything within my power, I shall do my utmost!”

Wang Yang feigned another look at the note, then turned to Jiao Zheng, watching his expression closely as he spoke:

“The garrison at A Qu, the banner of Huang Kui, subordinate Twelfth Company—there’s a soldier named He Han. Cancel his transfer order to Tianmen Commandery.”

Jiao Zheng’s face froze. He could arrange any border soldier’s posting—but why this particular He Han?

He said, struggling: “Transfers to other commanderies involve official records already transferred out. To cancel such an order requires coordination with the other commandery—I simply cannot handle it myself.”

Wang Yang suspected Jiao Zheng was lying.

Two points raised suspicion.

First, Jiao Zheng’s reaction upon hearing He Han’s name.

This likely meant he remembered the transfer order.

How could an External Troops Registrar possibly recall the posting of a lowly border soldier?

Unless this transfer was unusual.

Second, Jiao Zheng’s wording was evasive. If he truly couldn’t do it, he should have said “I cannot,” not “I cannot easily.”

“Cannot easily” might mean “unwilling to.”

Of course, Wang Yang might be overthinking—perhaps the matter genuinely was difficult, or Jiao Zheng exaggerated its difficulty to make Wang Yang feel indebted.

Wang Yang took a quiet sip of wine, setting the cup down on the table:

“Registrar Jiao, are you brushing me off because you think I know nothing of military affairs?”

The shift from “Old Jiao” to “Registrar Jiao” made Jiao Zheng’s heart jolt—he hurriedly said:

“How could I dare brush off Young Master?! This matter involves inter-commandery transfers—the procedures are extremely complex. I truly have no power!”

This was clearly an excuse.

Jiao Zheng could revoke the transfer order—he simply had taken money from someone else and was obligated to fulfill their request.

If it were anyone else, Jiao Zheng could just return the money.

But this person—he dared not offend.

On one side was the Langya Wang clan, whom he had just begun to court; on the other, the person he could not offend.

Alas! It’s hard being a man!

After a brief hesitation, he asked: “May I humbly ask what connection this soldier has with Young Master? Why do you wish to cancel his transfer?”

“Don’t ask more. I’m currently using this man. Here’s the compromise: delay his transfer by six days. After six days, wherever he goes, I won’t interfere.”

Perfect!

Delaying didn’t mean refusing—just postponing. It offended neither the other party nor Wang Yang.

A win-win!

“Young Master, rest assured—if it’s only a six-day delay, I’ll handle it myself!”

Wang Yang smiled faintly: “Then thank you, Registrar Jiao.”

“I dare not! Helping Young Master is my honor! My daughter and I have long admired the elegance of the Langya Wang clan—today meeting someone as outstanding as you fills my heart with joy... Yan’er! Why are you still standing there? Young Master’s cup is empty—quickly refill it!”

The banquet lasted until midnight. During it, Wang Yang tried to probe for hidden details about He Han’s transfer, but failed.

Jiao Zheng also subtly inquired about Wang Yang’s family background—naturally, he learned nothing.

Both pretended to be drunk and boisterous, yet remained fully alert, mutually wary.

After the feast, Wang Yang prepared to return to the prefectural academy and sent someone to summon a carriage.

Jiao Zheng smiled apologetically:

“The night roads are uneven—why should Young Master endure further jolts? Stay the night here. Tomorrow morning, I’ll personally escort you back.”

Wang Yang thought: Spending one night here wouldn’t hurt. It was too late to trouble the academy’s carriage to come again, and since he still needed Jiao Zheng to handle He Han’s matter, he shouldn’t embarrass him—so he agreed.

The main chamber of the Jiao residence had been prepared: green lacquered windows with carved patterns propped open by bamboo poles, a red-lacquered long desk with writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone, and a pair of candles burning upon it.

The brocade quilt was scented, the gauze canopy stretched over a wide bed—the incense was fresh white sandalwood bought before the banquet, the gauze canopy borrowed from Jiao Zheng’s friend, Zhao Gongcao.

In short, every detail was carefully arranged to mimic the furnishings of a scholar-official household.

Whether the imitation was convincing was debatable, but in terms of room size and furniture refinement, it far surpassed Wang Yang’s dormitory at the prefectural academy.

After washing and changing into the night robe provided by the Jiaos, Wang Yang was examining the room’s furnishings when Jiao Zheng’s daughter, Jiao Yan, entered to bring him tea.

She wore a thin white silk skirt, beneath which a purple corset was faintly visible; her cheeks were flushed, her long hair damp and hanging loose—clearly just bathed.

This white skirt was not something just anyone could pull off—any deficiency in temperament, beauty, or figure would make it look dull. A petite beauty like Xie Xinghan would look like a fairy in it—if she played Little Dragon Maiden or Huang Rong, she’d be a nationwide sensation.

But she had no acting talent, and her personality was arrogant—on any reality show like Infinite Superstar, she’d surely snap at every instructor.

Wang Yang’s thoughts drifted, completely unaware that Jiao Yan had entered, poured tea, adjusted the candlesticks, and then gone to make the bed.

But the bed had already been made by servants—she had nothing left to do, so she merely lingered by the bed, fussing over smoothing the sheets.

Wang Yang snapped back to reality and said: “Miss Jiao, it’s late—go back to sleep.”

“Yan’er... isn’t sleepy,” Jiao Yan murmured.

“I’m sleepy.”

Jiao Yan lowered her head, voice barely audible: “Yan’er wishes to stay and serve Young Master.”