Chapter 32: Complaint

Little sister Zheng Shan seemed to realize she had said something wrong, covering her small mouth as she looked at Zheng Fa.

Zheng Fa glanced at the seventh young master beside him, his face full of eager curiosity, then smiled down at his little sister and patted her head.

The little girl understood at once, tilting her face up to begin her complaint:

“Wang Gui is the worst! In the whole village, he’s the one who loves to bully people the most!”

“How did he bully you? Tell me, I’ll make things right for you.”

The seventh young master put down his bowl and watched Zheng Shan, who wore an expression of righteous grievance.

“He stole my pigweed leaves! I spent two hours picking them, and he took them all!”

“Pigweed leaves?” The seventh young master looked at Zheng Fa.

“Used to feed pigs in the village,” Zheng Fa said, lowering his gaze. “We eat them too.”

“… ” The seventh young master held his bowl of white rice, suddenly speechless.

“He didn’t even eat them—he threw them on the ground and stomped on them!”

Zheng Shan had only meant to file a complaint, but as she spoke, anger flared again, tears welling in her large eyes.

From her expression, it was clear that the crushed pigweed leaves hurt her more than the theft itself.

“Is that so?”

The smile slowly vanished from the seventh young master’s face.

“And more—he’s been slandering you and me, Brother!” Zheng Shan pouted. “He says you’re strange and hard to please, just lucky to be born rich, and that you’ll get beaten to death by the seventh young master!”

Zheng Fa looked at his little sister’s old clothes, his gaze darkening.

When he was home, Wang Gui had been unfriendly to his family, but at most he just isolated him and his sister.

Now that he was in the Zhao household, Wang Gui probably thought he had stolen his position as a page, and his resentment had grown unchecked.

“Anything else?” Zheng Fa asked before the seventh young master could speak.

“He also says bad things about you and the seventh young master!” Zheng Shan said, lips pouting. “He says the seventh young master is weird and hard to please, just lucky to be born rich, and that you’ll be beaten to death by him!”

Zheng Fa glanced at the seventh young master’s darkening face, then looked at his indignant little sister with complex eyes.

This little brat knows how to stir up trouble!

More importantly, Zheng Fa himself knew a child her age couldn’t invent such words—Wang Gui must have truly said them.

People rarely mean it when they praise, but when they curse, they mean it deeply.

These insults toward the seventh young master were utterly sincere…

And the seventh young master knew exactly what kind of person he was—perhaps even inwardly agreed Wang Gui was right!

Didn’t that make it even more infuriating?

At the door, Wang Gui stood holding a basin of freshly cooked chicken, staring blankly at Zheng Shan, his face paler than the peeled chicken legs inside.

Behind him, Wang the steward yanked him to the ground, not daring to utter a single word of pleading.

…

The seventh young master looked at the father and son kneeling on the ground, lips pressed tight.

He bent down and forced a smile at Zheng Shan. “Wang Gui is this bad—how do you want me to punish him?”

Zheng Shan’s eyes lit up. “You’ll listen to me?”

“I’ll listen to you!”

“I…” The child bit her finger, thinking hard. “I can’t think of anything!”

“Shall I suggest something?”

“Yes! My brother says you’re the smartest!”

Zheng Fa: … I never said that!

The seventh young master glanced at Zheng Fa, his expression brightening.

After all, children don’t lie, right?

“Last time my mother beat him with a cane, he didn’t change.” The seventh young master glanced at Wang Gui, trembling on the ground. “Should I beat him again?”

“Good, good!” Zheng Shan clapped her hands, then looked dissatisfied. “But after he was beaten last time, he got even worse!”

“Don’t worry—I’ll beat him to death this time.”

As he said this, the seventh young master’s expression didn’t change.

At the door, Wang Gui collapsed, his face filled with despair, muttering unconsciously: “Young master, spare my life.”

“Death?” Little sister Zheng Shan was startled. “Like my father?”

Her concept of death came almost entirely from her late father; remembering him, her face twisted with hesitation as she tugged gently at the seventh young master’s sleeve. “Don’t kill him.”

“Oh?” The seventh young master looked at Zheng Shan pleading for Wang Gui, a faint smile in his eyes. “Aren’t you the one who hates him most?”

“I hate him, but… I can forgive him!” Zheng Shan patted her small chest, showing her magnanimity, then lowered her voice. “Father died. Mother said I was too young to remember him.”

The seventh young master stroked her lowered head, silent for a long while, then nodded. “Since you’ve forgiven him, I’ll spare his life.”

“Thank you, young master!”

Tears streamed down Wang Gui’s face—he wasn’t sure if he was crying from joy or relief. Behind him, Wang the steward’s face showed the same look of survival after near-death.

“Thank her,” the seventh young master pointed at Zheng Shan.

Wang Gui and his father bowed their heads repeatedly to Zheng Shan.

Little sister Zheng Shan grew frightened, hiding behind Zheng Fa’s back.

The seventh young master suddenly turned to Wang the steward. “You’re Wang Gui’s father. A son’s misdeeds reflect the father’s failure. You’re no longer fit to be steward.”

Wang the steward trembled but dared not speak.

“Go.”

Wang Gui left with his father, relief on his face, unaware of the despair in his father’s expression.

Zheng Fa guessed Wang the steward’s fear: he had spent five years building this empire through unscrupulous means; losing his position might bring swift retribution.

As for Wang Gui… Zheng Fa, who had experienced similar falls, could only hope he could bear the fall.

He glanced at the seventh young master, thinking this young master likely understood the full weight of his punishment—perhaps even more devastating than killing Wang Gui.

Maybe he did it on purpose.

After dinner, the seventh young master and Gao Yuan still had to stay overnight at Wang the steward’s home—the Zheng household had no room for them.

Zheng Fa saw them off; when they reached the crossroad, the seventh young master suddenly spoke:

“Zheng Fa, I envy you.”

“Hm?”

“I’m the young master, you’re a villager, yet I envy you.” The seventh young master looked at the night sky. “Your mother worries about you. Even if you return in glory, she first asks if you’re well, if you’re safe. Your little sister, so young, already knows to speak well of you before me.”

Zheng Fa nodded, unable to see the seventh young master’s expression.

“This is what I can never have.” The seventh young master waved his hand. “Today, I acted for them. Go back.”

Zheng Fa watched them disappear into the distance, then turned toward the lamp still lit in his mother’s room.

At the door, he heard Zheng Mu scolding little sister Zheng Shan.

“Why are you disobeying again?”

“Mother, I didn’t disobey!” Zheng Shan’s voice sounded wounded.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get your brother involved in complaints?”

“I didn’t make him say anything! I said it myself!”

“What if you offended the young master? Don’t drag your brother into trouble?” Zheng Mu still thought her daughter was too bold.

“I’m only six! Would the young master really care?”

Zheng Fa pushed open the door, picked up the wide-eyed, defiant little girl, and smiled. “Mother, don’t scold her—the seventh young master praised her.”

“Exactly!” Zheng Shan lifted her head proudly, clearly pleased with her own performance.